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A  BELLE   OF  THE   FIFTIES 


MRS.    CLAY 
of  Alabama 


A  Belle  of  the  Fifties 

Memoirs  of  Mrs.  Clay,  of  Alabama, 
covering  Social  and  Political  Life  in 
Washington  and  the  South,  1853-66 
Put  into  narrative  form  by  Ada  Sterling 


Illustrated  from   contemporary    portraits 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1905 


Copyright.  1904,  by 
Doublcday,  Page  &  Company 

Published,  September,  1904 


^0 

the  dear  memory  of  the  husband  of  my  youth 

Clement  Claiborne  Clay 

Virginia  Clay-Clopton 


PREFACE 

The  memoirs  of  "Mrs.  Clay,  of  Alabama,"  by  which 
title  Mrs.  Clement  C.  Clay,  Jr.  (now  Mrs.  Clay-Clopton) , 
was  known  during  the  period  comprised  by  1850-87, 
begin  in  the  middle  of  the  second  decade  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  the  scenes  being  laid  among  the  affluent  planta- 
tions of  North  Carolina  and  Alabama,  and,  continuing 
through  two  brilliant  administrations  at  the  national 
capital,  close,  as  she  emerges  from  the  distresses  which 
overtook  her  and  her  husband  after  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  tragedy  that  plunged  a  nation  into  mourning — 
the  death  of  Mr.  Lincoln. 

In  the  researches  made  in  order  to  obviate  all  possible 
inaccuracies  in  these  memoirs  (a  precaution  always 
necessary  where  one's  life  has  been  long  and  experiences 
so  varied),  I  have  come  upon  no  record  of  any  other 
woman  of  her  time  who  has  filled  so  powerful  a  place 
politically,  whose  belleship  has  been  so  long  sustained, 
or  whose  magnetism  and  compelling  fascinations  have 
swayed  others  so  universally  as  have  those  of  Mrs.  Clay- 
Clopton.  In  the  unrestful  days  at  the  capital  which 
preceded  the  Civil  War  her  winning  personality  was 
such  as  to  cause  even  those  whom  she  esteemed  the 
enemies  of  her  section,  in  those  days  when  "sections" 
were,  to  be  covetous  of  her  smiles.  At  no  period  of  her 
long  career  have  her  unique  courage,  her  beautiful 
optimism,  her  inspiring  buoyancy  been  more  accentuated 
than  during  the  making  of  the  present  book.  The  recall- 
ing of  incident  after  incident,  step  by  step,  of  so  great  a 
procession  of  memories  as  are  here  set  down  is   a  task 


PREFACE 

from  which  many  persons  of  twoscore  years  might 
shrink.  At  the  ripe  age  of  almost  eight  decades  Mrs.  Clay- 
Clopton  entered  into  the  work  with  a  heart  as  light  as  a 
girl's  and  a  sustained  energy  and  enthusiasm  that  have 
been  as  remarkable  as  they  are  unparalleled.  While 
preparing  these  pages  I  enjoyed  a  daily  intercourse  with 
her  extending  over  eight  months,  during  which  time  I 
often  found  myself  spellbound  by  the  descriptive  powers 
which  nearly  a  half  century  ago  compelled  the  admira- 
tion of  leading  men  and  women  of  that  day. 

"My  wife  was  amazed  at  your  eloquence,"  wrote 
Attorney -General  Jeremiah  Black  in  1866,  and  in  suc- 
ceeding letters  urged  Mrs.  Clay  to  put  her  experiences 
with  Messrs.  Johnson,  Holt  and  Stanton  into  book  form. 
To  these  and  urgings  as  powerful  from  many  quarters, 
reiterated  during  the  past  forty  years,  until  the  present 
work  was  undertaken,  Mrs.  Clay-Clopton  has  remained 
indifferent.  Her  recollections  of  a  long  life  are  now 
gathered  in  response  to  a  wide  and  insistently  expressed 
desire  to  see  them  preserved  in  a  concrete  form  ere  the 
crowding  years  shall  have  made  impossible  the  valuable 
testimony  she  is  able  to  bear  to  ante-bellum  and  bellum 
conditions  in  her  dearly  loved  South  land.  To  that 
end  many  friends  of  Mrs.  Clay-Clopton  have  lent  an 
eager  aid,  and  it  is  an  acknowledgment  due  to  them  that 
their  names  be  linked  here  with  the  work  they  have  so 
lovingly  fostered. 

The  inception  of  the  work  as  now  presented  is  primarily 
due  to  Mrs.  Milton  Humes,  of  Abingdon  Place,  Hunts- 
ville,  Alabama,  a  daughter  of  the  late  Governor  Chapman, 
of  that  State,  and  the  friend  from  her  childhood  of  Mrs. 
Clay-Clopton.  For  many  years  Mrs..  Humes  has  ardently 
urged  upon  our  heroine  the  necessity  for  preserving  her 
rich  memories  as  a  legacy,  not  alone  to  the  South,  but  to 
all  lovers  of  the  romantic  and  eventful  in  our  national 


PREFACE 

history,  to  whatsoever  quarter  of  the  country  they  may 
claim  a  particular  allegiance.  Through  Mrs.  Humes 
Mrs.  Clay-Clopton  and  I  met ;  through  her  unintermitting 
energy  obstacles  that  at  first  threatened  to  postpone  the 
beginning  of  the  work  were  removed,  and  from  these 
initial  steps  she  has  brought  a  very  Minerva-like  wisdom 
and  kindness  to  aid  the  work  to  its  completion.  At  the 
instance  of  Mrs.  Humes  General  Joseph  Wheeler  lent  me 
a  valuable  sympathy;  through  the  courtesy  of  General 
Wheeler  General  James  H.  Wilson,  to  whom  Clement 
C.  Clay,  Jr.,  surrendered  in  1865,  kindly  gave  his  con- 
sideration to  the  chapters  of  the  memoirs  in  which  he 
personally  is  mentioned,  correcting  one  or  two  minor 
inaccuracies,  such  as  misapplied  military  titles.  Through 
the  continued  forethought  of  Mrs.  Humes  and  General 
Wheeler  Colonel  Henry  Watterson's  attention  was 
directed  to  the  work,  and  he,  too,  generously  scanned  the 
manuscript  then  ready,  at  a  considerable  expense  of  time, 
guiding  my  pen,  all  untutored  in  political  phrases,  from 
some  misleading  slips.  I  owe  a  large  debt  of  gratitude 
to  Colonel  Robert  Barnwell  Rhett,  who,  though  an  invalid 
while  I  was  a  guest  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Humes  in  Huntsville, 
gave  his  unsparing  counsels  to  me,  enlightening  me  as  to 
personages  and  events  appertaining  to  the  formation  of 
the  Confederate  Government,  which  would  have  been 
unobtainable  from  any  books  at  present  known  to  me. 
For  the  acquaintance  with  Colonel  Rhett  I  am,  on  behalf 
of  the  memoirs  and  for  my  personal  pleasure,  again  the 
debtor  of  Mrs.  Humes. 

The  aid  of  Mrs.  Paul  Hammond,  formerly  of  Beech 
Island,  South  Carolina,  but  now  residing  in  Jacksonville, 
Florida,  has  been  peculiarly  valuable.  Possessed  of  a  fine 
literary  taste,  a  keen  observer,  and  retaining  a  vivid 
recollection  of  the  personages  she  encountered  when  a 
debutante  under  Mrs.  Clay's  chaperonage  in  1857— '58  in 


PREFACE 

Washington,  the  six  or  seven  weeks  over  which  our 
intercourse  extended  were  a  continual  striking  of  rare 
lodes  of  incident,  which  lay  almost  forgotten  in  the 
memory  of  her  kinswoman,  Mrs.  Clay-Clopton,  but  which 
have  contributed  greatly  to  the  interest  of  certain  chap- 
ters  dealing  with  Washington  life  in  antebellum  days. 

Thanks  are  due  to  Mrs.  Bettie  Adams  for  her  unsparing 
efforts  to  facilitate  the  getting  together  of  the  necessary 
manuscripts  to  support,  and,  in  some  instances,  to 
authenticate  and  amplify  the  remembrances  carried  by  our 
heroine  of  the  crucial  times  of  the  great  internecine  war; 
to  Miss  Jennie  Clay,  who  in  her  editorial  pursuits  discov- 
ered special  dates  and  records  and  placed  them  at  my 
disposal  in  order  that  the  repetition  of  certain  commonly 
accepted  errors  might  be  avoided;  and  to  Mrs.  Frederick 
Myers  of  Savannah,  daughter  of  Mrs.  Philip  Phillips,  who 
sent  for  my  perusal  (thereby  giving  me  valuable  sidelights 
on  the  times  of  '61-62),  her  mother's  letters  from  Ship 
Island,  together  with  the  latter's  journal,  kept  during 
her  imprisonment  by  General  Benjamin  F.  Butler. 

The  letters  of  Judge  John  A.  Campbell,  contributed  by 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Henrietta  Lay,  have  been  so  well 
prized  that  they  have  become  part  of  the  structure  of 
her  friend's  memoirs;  to  Mrs.  Lay,  therefore,  also  to  Mrs. 
Myra  Knox  Semmes,  of  New  Orleans,  Mrs.  Cora  Semmes 
Ives,  of  Alexandria,  Virginia;  Mrs.  Corinne  Goodman,  of 
Memphis,  Tennessee ;  Mrs.  Mary  Glenn  Brickell,  of  Hunts- 
ville,  Alabama;  Mrs.  George  Collins  Levey,  of  England, 
and  Judge  John  V.  Wright,  of  Washington,  D.C.,  thanks 
are  hereby  given  for  incidents  recalled  and  for  suggestive 
letters  received  since  the  work  on  the  memoirs  began. 

Ada  Sterling. 

New  York  City,  September  15,   1904. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  I.     Childhood,  Girlhood,  Marriage. 

A  Bit  of  Family  History — Plantation  Scenes  in  North  Caro- 
lina and  Alabama — A  Caravan  of  the  Early  Thirties — "De 
Year  de  Stars  Fell"— I  Partially  "Scalp"  My  Cousin — The 
Strange  Experience  of  an  Early  Alabama  Instructress — Miss 
Brooks,  a  Distinguished  Educator — My  Uncle  Takes  My 
Training  in  Hand — A  First  Flight  into  the  Beautiful  World 
— Charles  Kean  and  Ellen  Tree — I  Meet  a  Famous  Belle 
— Mme.  Le  Vert  Instructs  Me  in  the  Dance — An  Intense 
Love  Affair — My  Knight  Fails  Me — A  Gallant  Lover 
Appears — Social  Doings  at  a  Primitive  Capital — Poet- 
swains  in  the  Early  Forties — A  Dance  with  Willam  L. 
Yancey — My  Premonitions  Are  Realised  and  "My  Own 
Comes  to  Me" — Marriage  in  the  Morn  of  Life — The  Home- 
coming  of   the    Bride         .......  3 

Chapter  II.     Washington  Personages   in  the 
Fifties. 

Journey  to  the  Capital — An  Early  "Congressional  Limited" 
— A  Stump  Orator  of  Alabama,  the  "Maker  of  Senators" 
— Arrival  at  the  Capital — The  Night  Clerk  Refuses  Us 
Accommodations  at  the  National  Hotel— Undercurrents 
of  Strife  in  Society — Mrs.  Pierce — Pennsylvania  Avenue  in 
the  Fifties — Survey  of  Washington's  Hostesses — Mme.  de 
Bodisco  and  the  Glacees — Her  Second  Marriage  at  Old 
St.  John's — Foreign  Legations— Reminiscence  of  Octavia 
Walton  in  Washington— Mrs.  Riggs  Gives  a  Midnight 
Supper  to  Patti — Heller  Appears;  Likewise  the  Grand 
Elephant    Hannibal    ........  19 

Chapter     III.       A      Historic      Congressional 
"Mess." 

Our  Mess  at  Historic  Brown's  Hotel  and  at  the  Ebbitt 
House — Mrs.  Pugh  and  the  Baron  Hulseman — The  Boy 
Henry  Watterson — Congressmen  Clopton,  Curry,  Dowdell, 
L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  and  Shorter,  Senator  Fitzpatrick,  and 
Their  Wives — Mr.  Dowdell  Goes  to  Hear  Gottschalk — 
Circumstances  of  the  Sudden  Death  of  Preston  Brooks — 


CONTENTS— Continued 


PAGE 


The  Stockton  Mansion  and  Its  Romances — Our  "Mess" 
Considers  the  Prudence  of  Calling  on  a  Certain  Lady — 
Retribution  Overtakes  Us — Master  Benny,  the  Hotel  Terror         42 

Chapter   IV.     The   Cabinet   Circles   of  Presi- 
dents Pierce  and  Buchanan. 

Washington  in  1856 — Secret  Visit  of  President  Pierce — 
Personal  Recollections  of  Him — Secretaries  Marcy,  Cushing, 
and  Dobbin— Incidents  of  the  Latter's  Kindness  of 
Heart — Secretary  of  War  Jefferson  Davis — Postmaster- 
General  Brown — Secretary  of  State  Guthrie — Story  of 
the   Conquest  of  Chevalier  Bertinatti        .  .  .  .  58 

Chapter  V.     Solons  of  the  Capital. 

Society  of  Supreme  Court  Circles — Chief  Justice  Taney — 
Judge  Campbell — Professors  Henry  and  Maury — A  Visit 
to  the  Latter's  Observatory — Thomas  Hart  Benton — 
George  Wallace  Jones :  His  Romantic  History  as  Surveyor- 
General  of  the  Great  Northwest.  At  the  Age  of  Ninety- 
one  He  Recalls  a  Day  When  He  Meant  to  Kill  Seward — 
Meeting  with  Myra  Clarke  Gaines — Senator  and  Mrs. 
Crittenden,  a  "Perfectly  Happy  Woman"  ...  73 

Chapter  VI.     Fashions  of  the  Fifties. 

Aspect  of  Fashionable  Society  of  the  Pierce  and  Bu- 
chanan Administrations — Perditas  of  the  Period — Low 
Necks  and  Lace  Berthas — Kind  Offices  of  American 
Consuls — Mr.  Thomson  and  Miss  Lane's  Toy  Terrier — He 
Reports  Upon  the  Petticoats  at  Brighton — Washington 
Dressmakers  as  Miracle- Workers — Mrs.  Rich,  a  True 
R.econstructionist — Belles  and  Beaux  of  the  Period — 
Barton  Key — His  Murder — Mrs.  Sickles  at  Home — 
Revival  of  Moustaches — General  Sam  Houston ;  His  Strange 
Attire — A  Glimpse  of  This  Hero  in  the  Senate  and  in 
Society        ..........         86 

Chapter  VII.      The    Relaxations  of  Congres- 
sional Folk. 

Public  Recreation — Flights  to  New  York — Jenny  Lind 
— Charlotte  Cushman — Mrs.  Gilbert  and  the  Come- 
dian Brougham  in  "Pocahontas" — Mr.  Thackeray — Dr. 
Maynard — Blind  Tom  at  the  White  House — Marine 
Band  Concerts    on    the    White    House    Lawn — President 


CONTENTS— Continued 


Pierce  and  the  Countryman — President  Buchanan  and 
the  Indians — Apothleohola,  a  Cherokee  Patriarch — Dr. 
Morrow  and  the  Expedition  to  Japan — Return  of  Same 
— Ruse  of  the  Oriental  Potentate  to  Prevent  Our  Securing 
Germinating  Rice — A  Plague  of  Japanese  Handkerchiefs    .       101 

Chapter   VIII.     The   Brilliant    Buchanan  Ad- 
ministration. 

Miss  Lane  Becomes  Lady  of  the  White  House — Her  Influ- 
ence on  Washington  Life — The  Coming  of  Lord  and  Lady 
Napier — Their  Hospitality — They  Give  a  Ball  to  Lords 
Cavendish  and  Ashley — Mrs.  Crittenden  Puts  to  Rout  a 
Younger  Belle — Lord  Napier  Proposes  a  Toast  to  the 
Chevalier  Bayard — Washington  Citizens  Give  a  Ball  to 
the  Napiers,  at  Which  James  Gordon  Bennett  Is  Seen  in  the 
Dance — Some  Prominent  Citizen  Hostesses — Lilly  Price, 
the  Future  Duchess  of  Marlborough — Mr.  W.  W.  Corcoran 
— His  Lavish  Entertainments — Howell  Cobb's  Apprecia- 
tion— A  Stranger's  Lack  of  It — I  Take  the  Daughter  of  a 
Constituent  to   See  the   Capitol        .         .         .         .         .114 

Chapter  IX.  A  Celebrated  Social  Event. 

Mrs.  Gwin's  Fancy  Ball — To  the  White  House  for  Inspection 
— Aunt  Ruthy  Partington  Presents  Herself  to  Mrs.  Gwin 
— Mrs.  Pendleton  is  Mystified — Senator  Gwin  and  "My 
Boy  Ike" — Lord  and  Lady  Napier  and  Others  of  "Our 
Furrin  Relations" — The  Squelching  of  a  Brave  Balti- 
morean — Senator  Seward  Gives  Welcome  to  the  Stranger 
from  Beanville — Mr.  Shillaber  Offers  "to  Immortalise"  Me       126 


Chapter    X.     Exodus     of    Southern     Society 
from  the  Federal  City. 

Gayety  Begins  to  Wane  in  the  Capital — A  Wedding  in 
Old  St.  John's — Lord  Lyons  Replaces  the  Napiers — 
Anson  Burlingame  Rescues  Me  from  a  Dilemma — Politi- 
cal Climax — -Scenes  in  the  Senate — Admiral  Semmes 
Declares  His  Intentions — Mr.  Rufnn's  Menacing  Arsenal — 
Ex-President  Tyler's  Grief — We  Hear  News  from  Morris 
Island — Senators  Clay,  Davis,  Fitzpatrick,  Mallory,  and 
Yulee  Withdraw  from  the  Senate — Visits  of  Representa- 
tives Pendleton  and  Vallandigham,  and  Senator  Pugh,  of 
Ohio — Joseph  Holt  Writes  Deploring  the  Possible  Loss  to 
Our  Country  of  Senator  Clay's  "Genius  and  Patriotism" 
— "A  Plain  New  Hampshire  Minister"  Writes  of  the  Times 
— We   Leave   the  Federal  City — Mrs.  Philip  Phillips  De- 


CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

scribes  It  a  Few  Weeks  Later — Blair's  Alarm  at  Loss  of 

Lee,  Magruder,  and  Other  "Good  Officers"      .  .  .138 

Chapter  XL     War  Is  Proclaimed. 

I  Go  with  Senator  Clay  to  Minnesota — "Let's  Mob  the 
Fire-eater" — We  See  Our  First  Federal  Soldiers  at  Cairo — 
Echoes  of  Sumter — Once  More  in  the  Blossomy  South — 
In  Picturesque  Huntsville — We  Hear  from  Montgomery 
of  President  Davis's  Unceasing  Industry — A  Survey  of 
Huntsville — The  "Plebs"  and  Aristocrats  Compete  for 
the  Naming  of  the  Town,  and  the  Descendants  of  a  Poet 
Give  Way  before  Its  Discoverer — A  Nursing  Mother  of 
Alabama's  Great  Men — The  Fascinations  of  the  Fair  Vixens 
of  the  Early  Nineteenth  Century — A  Baptism  at  the  Big 
Spring — The  Make-up  of  Our  Army  in  '61 — We  Hear  from 
a  Hero  at  Harper's  Ferry — Letters  from  Washington — We 
Prepare  to  Go  to  Richmond      .         .         .         .         .         .153 

Chapter    XII.      Richmond    as    a    National 
Capital. 

We  Arrive  in  Richmond,  Where  We  Meet  Many  Old  Friends 
— An  Evening  at  the  Mallorys' — We  Establish  Our  Mess 
at  Mrs.  Du  Val's — Some  of  Our  Heroes — We  Feast  on 
Oysters  and  Terrapin — Greenbacks,  Canvas-backs,  and 
Drawbacks — We  Hear  of  the  Fall  of  Nashville,  and 
General  Buell's  Designs  Upon  Huntsville — Some  of  Rich- 
mond's Hostesses — Mrs.  Stannard  entertains ;  and  the  Fa- 
•mous  Private  Theatrical  Performance  of  "The  Rivals" — 
Mrs.  Burton  Harrison  Recalls  Her  Triumph  as  Lydia 
Languish — The  Caste — Mrs.  Drew  Acts  as  "Coach" — 
Mrs.  Ives,  Our  Hostess,  Is  Saved  from  Stage  Fright  by  a 
Bonnet  Which  Has  Run  the  Blockade      .         .         .         .168 


Chapter  XIII.     Glimpses  of  Our  Beleaguered 
South  Land. 

Richmond  in  '62 — John  A.  Campbell  Gives  an  Opinion 
on  Confederate  Money — An  Exodus  from  the  Capital — 
Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor  Rebukes  a  Contemptuous  Lady — 
Our  Mail  a  Pandora's  Box — News  of  New  Orleans — 
William  L.  Yancey  Returns  from  a  Fruitless  Trip  to 
England — And  Mr.  Lamar  from  Russia — An  Astronomer 
Turns  Martinet — A  Careful  Search  Is  Made  for  General  Pope 
Walker — Our  Pastor's  Prayers  Curtailed — The  Federals 
Are  Worried  by  General  Roddy — Miss  Mitchell  "Con- 
fiscates"  Some  of  My  Property — "Hey!     Git  off   'Ginie 


CONTENTS— Continued 


Clay's    Mare!" — General    Logan,    a    Case    of    Mistaken 
Identity — My  Refugee  Days  Begin — A  Glimpse  of  North        *"" 
Carolinian  Hospitality — And  of  che  Battle  of  Seven  Pines 
— The  Seed-corn  of  Our  Race  Is  Taken — Return  to  Hunts- 
ville 178 

Chapter  XIV.     Refugee  Days  in  Georgia. 

Detained  in  Macon — General  Tracy  Tells  of  Conditions  at 
Vicksburg — Senator  Clay  Writes  of  Grave  Conditions  in 
Richmond — A  War-time  Dinner  with  President  Davis — 
My  Sister  and  I  Turn  Seamstresses — Looking  for  Big 
Battles — Travel  in  '63 — Cliff  and  Sid  Lanier  Write  from  - — 
"Tented  Field" — News  from  "Homosassa"      .         .         .       193 

Chapter  XV.     Clement  C.   Clay,  Jr.,  Departs 
for  Canada. 

A  Memory  of  Dahlgren's  Raid — Mr.  Clay  Accepts  a  Mission 
to  Canada — Mr.  Lamar's  Ideas  on  National  Friendships — 
My  Husband  Takes  His  Departure — Troubled  Petersburg 
and  Still  More  Troubled  Richmond — Hospital  Experiences 
— My  Sister  Accuses  Me  of  "Running  from  Yankees,"  and 
Overtakes  Me — We  Nurse  a  Sick  Soldier — I  Get  a  Pass- 
port, but  Fail  to  Use  It — A  Distinguished  Watermelon 
Man    .  .  •  .  .  .  .  .  .  .203 

Chapter  XVI.     The  South's  Departed  Glories. 

A  Typical  Plantation — Senator  Hammond's  Little  Republic 
on  Beech  Island — Its  General  Influence — The  Mill  and  the 
Miller — My  Cousin,  Mrs.  Paul  Hammond,  Writes  a  De- 
scription of  "Redcliffe" — The  Hammond  Negro  as  I  Have 
Found  Him — She  Wins  Them  by  Subterfuge — Senator  Clay 
Dances  a  Highland  Fling  and  Startles  Some  Gentle  Metho- 
dists— St.  Catharine's;  a  Solemn  Service  There — A  Sight 
for  Abolitionists — Choristers  of  the  Field — A  Comparison       211 

Chapter  XVII.     Conditions  in  '63  and  '64. 

Cost  of  Clothing — Scarcity  of  Necessities — Memphis  in 
Yankee  Hands — Revival  of  Spinning  and  Weaving — A 
Salt  Famine — Senator  Hammond's  Sagacity — Potato 
Coffee  and  Peanut  Chocolate — Mrs.  Redd  Weaves  Me  a 
Notable  Dress — London  Takes  Note  of  Richmond  Fashions 
— I  Send  a  List  of  "Desirables"  to  Mr.  Clay  in  Canada — 
Novelties  for  the  Toilette  and  Writing-Table — Difficulties 
of  Getting  News  —  The  President  Writes  Me  of  My 
Absent    One,     and    Secretary    Mallory    Rejoices    at    His 


CONTENTS— Continued 


Conduct  of  Canadian  Interest — Postal  Deficiencies — Ad- 
ventures of  an  Editor — Price  of  Candles  Rises — Telegrams 
Become  Costly  and  My  Sister  Protests — ' '  Redcliff e' '  Mourns 
Her  Master — Gloom  and  Apprehension  at  News  of  Sher- 
man's March — We  Are  Visited  by  Two  of  Wheeler's 
Brigade — They  Give  Us  Warning  and  the  Family  Silver 
Is  Solemnly  Sunk  in  the  Ground — I  Hear  a  Story  of 
Sherman  and  Wheeler       .  .  .         .  .  .         .222 

Chapter  XVIII.     The  Death  of  Mr.  Lincoln. 

Conflicting  Advice  Reaches  Me  from  the  Capital — Also 
Sad  News  from  Huntsville — Our  Brother  Tells  of  Political 
Opposition  to  the  President — Soldiers  and  Citizens  Desire 
the  Presence  of  General  Johnston  in  the  Tennessee — Mr. 
Clay  Communicates  with  Me  by  "Personals" — I  Beg  to  Be 
Sent  to  Canada,  but  am  Met  by  Opposition — The  President 
Bids  Me  Take  Refuge  in  the  Capital — But  Another  Urges 
Me  to  Leave  the  Line  of  Sherman's  Army — I  Place  Myself 
Under  General  Howell  Cobb's  Protection  and  Go  to  Macon 
— My  Husband  Runs  the  Blockade,  but  Is  Shipwrecked 
Off  Fort  Moultrie — After  Some  Adventures  He  Reaches 
Macon — At  the  Home  of  General  Toombs — -We  Hear  News 
from  Richmond — Mr.  Clay  Makes  for  the  Capital  and 
Reaches  It — He  Returns  to  Georgia — The  Death  of  Mr. 
Lincoln:  "The  Worst  Blow  Yet  Struck  at  the  South  ! "       .        235 

Chapter  XIX.     C.  C.  Clay,  Jr.,  Surrenders  to 
General  Wilson. 

We  Go  to  Lagrange — A  Nest  of  "Rebels" — We  Hear 
of  President  Johnson's  Proclamation  Concerning  Mr.  Clay 
— My  Husband  Resolves  to  Surrender — He  Telegraphs  to 
General  Wilson — We  Proceed  to  Atlanta — Courtesy  of 
Colonel  Eggleston — He  Gives  Us  a  Guard — On  to  Macon — 
"Madam,  Your  Chief  Is  Taken" — Arrival  at  Macon — 
General  Wilson  Relieves  Us  of  Our  Guard — The  Generosity 
of  Women  Friends — We  Drive  to  Station — And  See  a 
Pathetic  Cortege — -"Say,  Johnny  Reb,  We've  Got  Your 
President!"         .  .    '     .  .  .  .  .  .  .        246 

Chapter  XX.    Prisoners  of  the  United  States. 

We  Have  an  All-Night  Ride  to  Augusta — Our  Party  of 
Prisoners  Augments — I  am  Made  Responsible  for  My 
Husband's  Appearance  and  We  Go  Visiting — We  Return 
to  Captivity — I  Board  the  Boat  Somewhat  Hastily — 
And  Unexpectedly  Find  Myself  in  the  Arms  of  General 
Wheeler — He  Gives  Me  a  Lesson  in  Forbearance — A  Dis- 


CONTENTS— Continued 


mal  Voyage — We  Reach  Savannah  and  Are  Transferred 
to  the  Clyde — Extracts  from  My  Diary  —  Mr.  Davis's 
Stoicism — We  Anchor  Off  Fortress  Monroe — Mr.  Clay  Is 
Invited  "to  Take  a  Ride  in  a  Tug" — Pathetic  Separa- 
tion of  the  Davis  Family  —  Little  Jeff  Becomes  Our 
Champion — -We  See  a  Gay  Shallop  Approaching — Two 
Ladies  Appear  and  Search  Us  in  the  Name  of  the  United 
States  Government — A  Serio-comic  Encounter — And  Still 
Another  in  Which  "Mrs.  Clay  Lost  Her  Temper  and 
Counselled  Resistance!" — We  Undertake  to  Deceive 
Lieutenant  Hudson,  but  "Laugh  on  the  Other  Side"  of 
Our  Faces!         .........       258 

Chapter  XXI.    Return  from  Fortress  Monroe. 

On  Board  the  Clyde — I  Find  a  Guard  at  My  Door — An 
Unknown  Hands  Me  the  Daily  Papers — The  News — I 
Write  to  Thirteen  Distinguished  Men — To  Joseph  Holt — A 
Friendly  Soldier  Posts  My  Letters — We  Arrive  in  Savannah 
and  Make  Our  Way  to  the  Pulaski  House — Savannah's 
Generous  People — Soldiers,  Black  and  White — -The  Chain- 
ing of  Mr.  Davis  —  I  Write  to  General  Miles  —  Little 
Jeff  Makes  a  Friend — "Bully  for  Jeff" — "Mordecai  and 
Haman"     ..........       269 

Chapter  XXII.     Reconstruction  Days  Begin. 

I  Arrive  in  Macon  After  Various  Discomforts — My  Baggage 
Is  "Examined"  by  General  Baker — A  Curious  Oversight 
of  the  Government's  Agents — I  Am  Rescued  from  a 
Dilemma  by  John  A.  Wyeth,  Knight-Errant — I  Recover  My 
Letters  from  the  War  Department,  but  with  Difficulty — 
A  Stricken  Patriarch  and  a  Spartan  Mother — Huntsville 
Metamorphosed — "Reconstruction"  Signs  Appear  —  A 
Slave  Emulates  His  New  Masters — He,  too,  in  Time,  Is 
Metamorphosed — The  Freedman's  Bureau  versus  "Ole 
Missus's" — Southern  Ladies  and  Camomile  Flowers         .       278 


Chapter  XXIII.     News  from  Fortress  Monroe. 

We  Hear  Discouraging  News  of  the  Nation's  Prisoners — 
Denunciation  of  Joseph  Holt  and  His  Witnesses  by  the 
Reverend  Stuart  Robinson — He  Exposes  the  "Infamous 
Perjuries  of  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice" — Their  Con- 
fession and  Flight  from  the  Country  —  Charles  O'Conor 
Writes  Me;  Also  Ben  Wood,  Who  Offers  to  Advance  the 
Cost  of  Mr.  .Clay's  Defense;  Also  Judge  Black  Writes 
Cheeringly — I  Hear  Through  R.  J.  Haldeman  of  the 
Friendliness     of    Thaddeus    Stevens;    and    from    General 


CONTENTS— Continued 


Miles;  Also,  in  Time,  from  Mr.  Clay — His  Letter  Prophe- 
sies Future  Racial  Conditions,  and  Advises  Me  How  to 
Escape  the  Evils  to  Come  —  Freed  from  Espionage,  He 
Describes  the  "Comforts"  of  Life  in  Fortress  Monroe— One 
of  the  Tortures  of  the  Inquisition  Revived  .  .  .  .286 

Chapter  XXIV.     Once  More  in  the   Federal 
Capital. 

Communications  Are  Reopened  with  Washington — 
Duff  Green  Makes  Application  to  the  President  on  My 
Behalf — I  Hear  from  Mrs.  Davis  of  Her  Misfortunes — I 
Borrow  $100  and  Start  for  the  Capital — Scenes  on  Cars 
and  Boat — I  Meet  Many  Sympathisers — And  Arrive  at 
Last  at  Cincinnati — Yankee  Ideas  and  Yankee  Notions — 
Mrs.  Pugh  Visits  Me — Also  Senator  and  Mrs.  Pendleton, 
Who  Take  Me  Home — Once  More  en  Route  for  Washing- 
ton— Within  Its  Precincts  .  .         .         .         .         .300 

Chapter    XXV.     Secretary     Stanton     Denies 
Responsibility. 

Arrival  at  Willard's — Expecting  Enemies,  I  Find  Many  Old 
Friends — General  Ihrie,  of  Grant's  Staff,  Calls  On  Me — 
Also  a  Nameless  Lady — Judge  Hughes  and  Judge  Black 
Counsel  Me — I  Visit  the  White  House  to  Plead  with  Mr. 
Johnson — Mrs.  Douglas  Is  My  Companion — Mr.  Johnson 
"Lives  up  to  His  Reputation"  and  Tells  Me  to  See  Mr. 
Stanton — Which  I  Do — The  Secretary's  Manner — "I 
am  Not  Your  Husband's  Judge,  Neither  am  I  His  Ac- 
cuser"— I  Call  Upon  General  Grant,  Who  Writes  to 
President  Johnson  on  Behalf  of  Mr.  Clay       .  .         .       307 

Chapter  XXVI.     Mr.  Holt  Reports   upon  the 
Case  of  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr. 

I  Send  General  Grant's  Letter  to  Mr.  Johnson — And 
Beg  to  Be  Allowed  to  Visit  Fortress  Monroe — I  Begin  to  Feel 
the  Strength  of  a  Concealed  Enemy — I  Refuse  to  Go  to 
Mr.  Stanton,  and  Have  a  First  Pass-at-Arms  with  the 
President — Mr.  Holt  Presents  His  "Report  on  the  Case 
of  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr. " — His  Several  Opinions  of  Mr.  Clay  in 
Parallel — Denied  an  Examination  of  the  Infamous  Docu- 
ment by  the  War  Department,  the  President's  "Official 
Copy"  Is  Placed  at  My  Disposal — Some  of  Its  Remarkable 
Features — The  President  Promises  Me  He  Will  Not 
Deliver  My  Husband  and  Mr.  Davis  up  to  the  Military 
Court,  and  Agrees  to  Issue  on  His  Own  Responsibility  a 
Permit  to  Visit  Fortress  Monroe — I  Go  to  New  York  and 
Hobnob  with  "An  Old  Abolitionist"         .         .         .         •       3J7 


CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

Chapter  XXVII.     President    Johnson    Inter- 
poses. 

President  Johnson  Issues  a  Permit  on  His  Own  Responsi- 
bility— I  Leave  Washington  for  Fortress  Monroe — And 
Meet  with  Kindness  on  the  Way — Dr.  Craven  Admonishes 
Me  to  Look  for  No  Favours  from  His  Successor — I  Meet 
General  Miles  in  His  Headquarters,  Which  Have  Been 
Furnished  by  General  Butler — I  Experience  a  Weary  Delay 
— Am  Refused  Explanation  or  Use  of  Telegraph  Wires — 
Dr.  Vogell  Intercedes — At  Nightfall  I  Am  Taken  to  My 
Husband's  Cell — I  Return  to  the  Capital — Death  of  Mrs. 
C.  C.  Clay,  Sr. — I  Report  to  the  President  the  Incidents 
of  My  Visit  to  the  Fortress — He  Assures  Me  They  Shall  Not 
Be  Repeated — He  Issues  Another  Permit  and  Promises  to 
Read  a  Letter  in  His  Cabinet     .         .         .         .         .  331 

Chapter  XXVIII.     The  Prison. 

Again  at  the  Fortress — My  Husband's  Cell  and  Room  in 
Carroll  Hall — Some  of  the  Comforts  of  Fortress  Monroe 
and  of  Mr.  Clay's  Position — I  am  Told  of  Some  of  His 
Experiences — A  Statement  of  Others — Mr.  Davis  at  the 
Fortress — An  Exchange  of  Notes — My  Husband  Turns 
Caretaker  —  With  a  Soft  Answer  He  Turns  Away  a 
Soldier's  Wrath — I  Have  a  Curious  Adventure  in  Which 
I  Meet  a  Lamb  in  Wolf's    Clothing  .         .         .         -345 

Chapter    XXIX.     President    Johnson     Hears 
What  "the  People  Say." 

President  Johnson  Is  Kind  but  Vacillating — Straws  That 
Show  a  Veering  of  the  Wind  —  Colonel  Rhett  Talks  with 
Mr.  Bennett,  and  the  Herald  Grows  Curious  as  to  the 
Mysteriously  Detained  Prisoners  —  Thaddeus  Stevens 
Writes  to  Mr.  Johnson  on  Behalf  of  Mr.  Clay — I  Have  a 
Nicodemus-like  Visitor — Mr.  Wilson,  Vice-President  of 
the  United  States,  Writes  to  the  President  on  Mr.  Clay's 
Behalf — Signs  of  Political  Disquiet — Parties  and  Partisans 
— I  Receive  Some  Political  Advice  and  Determine  to  Act 
Upon  It — I  Have  a  rencontre  in  the  Corridors  of  the  White 
House — And  Tell  Mr.  Johnson  What  "the  People  Say"       354 

Chapter  XXX.     The    Government  Yields    Its 
Prisoner. 

Old  Friends  and  New — Mme.  Le  Vert  and  Other  Famous 
Personages  Return  to  the  Capital — General  Lee  is  Lionised 


CONTENTS— Concluded 

PAGE 

— I  Secure  the  Liberty  of  the  Fort  for  My  Husband,  and 
Indulge  in  a  Little  Recreation — I  Visit  the  Studio  of  Vinnie 
Reames  and  the  Confederate  Fair  at  Baltimore — I  Return  to 
Washington  and  Resume  My  Pleadings  with  the  President 
— Mr.  Mallory,  Admiral  Semmes,  and  Alexander  Stephens 
Are  Released — Mr.  Mallory  and  Judge  Black  Counsel  Me 
to  Take  Out  the  Writ  of  Habeas  Corpus — The  Release 
Papers  Are  Promised — I  Visit  the  Executive  Mansion  to 
Claim  Them  and  at  Last  Receive  Them — "You  Are 
Released!" — Congratulations  Are  Offered — The  Context 
of  Some  of  These — "God  Has  Decreed  That  No  Lie  Shall 
Live  Forever" — We  Turn  Our  Faces  Once  More  to  the 
Purple  Mountains  of  Alabama    .         .         .         .         .         '367 


xx 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mrs.  Clay,  of  Alabama      ....  Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

Mrs.  Benjamin  Fitzpatrick,  of  Alabama        .         .26 

Adelina  Patti,  aged  sixteen 38 

Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor,  of  Virginia   .  .         .44 

Mrs.  George   E.  Pugh    (Therese   Chalfant),   of 
Ohio.     "  The  most  beautiful  woman  in  Wash- 
ington "  .         .         .         .         .         .         .46 

Franklin  Pierce,  President  of  the  United  States, 

i853"'57  •  60 

Mrs.  William  L.  Marcy,  of  New  York    .         .         .62 
Mrs.  J.  J.  Crittenden,  of  Kentucky        .         .         .84 
Mrs.  Chestnut,  of  South  Carolina  .         .         -94 

Jenny  Lind       ........   102 

James  Buchanan,  President  of  the  United  States, 

i857-'6i 108 

Miss  Harriet  Lane,  mistress  of  the  White  House, 

i857-'6i .         .   114 

Lady  Napier  and  Her  Sons  .         .         .         .116 

Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis,  of  Mississippi      .         .         .134 
Lord  Lyons,   British  Ambassador  to   the   United 

States 140 

Clement   C.    Clay,    Jr.,     United    States    Senator, 

i853-'6i 148 

L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  1862 164 

Mrs.  Philip  Phillips,  of  Washington,  D.  C.    .         .  166 
Senator  James  H.  Hammond,  of  South  Carolina     .  212 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS— Continued 

Facing  Page 

General  Joseph  Wheeler,  of  Alabama  .         .232 

Dr.  Henry  C.  Vogell,  Fortress  Monroe,  1866  .  334 

Dr.  George  Cooper,  Fortress  Monroe,  1866    .         .  350 
Mrs.  A.  S.  Parker,  of  Washington,  D.  C.         .        .  368 
Jefferson  Davis  and  Clement  C.  Clay,  Jr.  (after 
release  from  Fortress  Monroe)    .         .        .         -374 


A  BELLE   OF  THE   FIFTIES 


A  BELLE  OF  THE   FIFTIES 

CHAPTER   I 
Childhood,  Girlhood,  Marriage 

MY  infant  days  were  spent  in  North  Carolina 
among  the  kinsmen  of  my  mother.  I  do  not 
remember  her,  save  that  she  was  young  and 
fair,  being  but  twenty  when  she  died.  She  was  the 
twenty-fifth  child  of  the  family  united  under  her  father's 
roof,  which  remarkable  circumstance  may  be  explained 
as  follows: 

My  grandfather,  General  William  Arrington,  who  won 
his  title  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  having  been  left  a 
widower  with  twelve  children,  wearying  of  his  solitude, 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  over  to  visit  the  comely 
widow  Battle,  whose  children  also  numbered  twelve. 
The  two  plantations  lay  near  together  in  the  old  "Tar 
Heel"  State.  My  gallant  ancestor  was  a  successful 
wooer,  and  Mrs.  Battle,  nee  Williams,  soon  became  Mrs. 
Arrington.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  little  Anne — my 
mother — the  one  daughter  of  this  union,  entered  the  world 
and  simultaneously  into  the  affections  of  one  dozen  half- 
brothers  and  sisters  Arrington,  and  as  many  of  the 
Battle  blood.  This  was  a  fortunate  prevision  for  me, 
for,  though  orphaned  at  the  outset  of  my  earthly  pil- 
grimage— I  was  but  three  years  olrl  wjnenrny  girl-mother 
-passed  away — I  found  myself  by  no  means  alone,  though 
my  dear  father,  Dr.  Peyton  Randolph  Tunstall,  grief- 
stricken  and  sorrowful,  left  my  native  State  at  the  death 


4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

oof  his  wife,  and  I  was  a  half-grown  girl  ere  we  met  again 
vO?  and  learned  to  know  each  other. 
^         My  recollections  of  those  early  days  are  necessarily 
\>  V'    few ;  yet,  were  I  a  painter,  I  might  limn  one  awful  figure 
k^p'.,      that.  lingers  in  my  memory.     She  was  a  mulatto,   to 
r\jV  ^  ^r\^  whose  care  for  some  time  I  was  nightly  confided.     This 
y  vy  jf  }  x  .r  crafty  maid,  Rleasant  by  name,  though  'twas  a  misnomer, 
<t\\x^<v     anxious  to  join  in  the  diversions  of  the  other  domestics 
^^n^  Cr    i       among  the  outlying  cabins  on  the  plantation,  would  no 
""  .o-^  \?  sooner  tuck  me  into  bed  than  she  would  begin  to  unfold 

to  me  bloodcurdling  stories  of  "sperrits  an'  glioses," 
and  of  "old  blue  eyes  an'  bloody  bones"  who  would  be 
sure  to  come  out  of  the  plum  orchard  and  carry  me  to 
the  graveyard  if  I  did  not  go  quickly  to  sleep.  Fortu- 
nately, old  Major  Drake,  of  whose  family  I  was  then  a 
member,  chanced  one  evening  to  overhear  this  soothing 
lullaby,  and  put  an  end  to  her  stories  ere  serious  harm 
had  been  done ;  yet  so  wonderful  is  the  retentive  power 
of  the  human  mind  that  though  seventy  and  more 
momentous  years  have  passed  since  I,  a  little  fearsome 
child,  huddled  under  the  coverings  breathless  in  my  dread 
of  the  "bogie  man,"  I  still  recall  my  heartless,  or  perhaps 
my  thoughtless,  nurse  vividly. 

At  the  age  of  six  I  was  carried  to  Tuscaloosa,  then  the 
capital  of  the. -young--State  of  Alabama,  where  I  was 
placed  in  the  care  of  my  aunt,  whose  husband,  Henry 
W.  Collier,  then  a  young  lawyer,  afterward  became 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  his  State,  and  its 
Governor.  That  first  journey  stretches  out  in  my  memory 
as  an  interminable  pilgrimage.  Mr.  Fort,  of  Mississippi, 
his  wife,  my  mother's  sister,  and  their  two  children, 
Mary  and  Martha,  accompanied  by  a  large  following  of 
Negroes,  being  en  route  for  their  plantation  in  Mississippi 
territory,  I  was  given  into  their  care  for  delivery  to  my 
kin  in  Tuscaloosa.  No  palace-car  of  later  days  has  ever 
eclipsed   the   wonders   of   the   cavalcade    our   company 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE    5 

made  as  we  passed  along  through  towns  and  villages     7r 
and  the   occasional   Indian   settlements  that   here   and  j 
there  dotted  the  untilled  lands  of  those  early  nineteenth- 
century  days ! 

My  uncle  drove  in  his  gig  at  the  head  of  the  procession, 
while  my  aunt  and  the  children  made  the  journey  in  a 
big  pudding-shaped  carriage  in  charge  of  a  trusty  driver, 
beside  whom  my  aunt's  maid  sat.  The  carriage  was 
built  with  windows  at  the  sides,  and  adjustable  steps, 
which  were  let  down  when  we  halted  and  secured  in 
place  by  our  Negro  attendants.  These  followed  behind 
the  vehicles  and  were  at  hand  to  serve  us  when  need 
arose. 

Our  cortege  included  several  "Dearborns,"  similar  in 
shape  to  the  ambulances  of  the  present,  in  which  the  old 
and  ailing  Negroes  were  carried,  and  numerous  wagons 
containing  our  household  goods  and  provisions  followed 
behind.  At  night,  tents  were  pitched,  in  which  my  aunt 
and  the  children  slept,  unless  by  chance  a  storm  arose, 
when  the  shelter  of  some  hostelry  or  farmhouse  was 
sought.  The  preparations  for  camping  were  altogether 
exciting,  the  erection  of  tents,  the  kindling  of  fires,  the 
unharnessing  and  watering  and  feeding  of  the  stock,  and 
the  eager  industry  of  the  cooks  and  their  assistants  in 
the  midst  of  the  array  of  shining  utensils  all  combining 
to  stamp  the  scene  upon  the  mind  of  an  impressionable 
child. 

However,  in  the  course  of  time  the  slow  rolling  of 
our  carriage  became  monotonous  to  the  restive  children 
of  the  caravan,  and  the  novelty  of  standing  at  the  windows 
and  gazing  over  the  lifting  hills  soon  wore  off.  My  aunt 
felt  the  fatigue  less,  we  thought,  for  she  was  a  famous 
soliloquist,  and  often  talked  to  herself  as  we  rode,  some- 
times laughing  aloud  at  her  own  good  company.  I 
think  we  children  regarded  her  as  deranged,  if  harmless, 
until  one  day  she  proved   her  sanity  to  our  complete 


\:J¥ 


6  A  BELLE   OF  THE  FIFTIES 

satisfaction.  In  a  moment  of  insupportable  tedium  we 
conceived  the  idea  of  dropping  the  little  tin  cups,  with 
which  each  was  provided,  in  order  to  see  if  the  wheels 
would  run  over  them.  One  after  another  the  vessels 
were  lowered,  and  each,  to  our  intense  delight,  was 
smashed  flat  as  the  proverbial  pancake.  When  my  aunt 
discovered  our  mischief,  being  a  gentle  soul,  she  merely 
reprimanded  us,  and  at  the  next  settlement  purchased 
others;  but  when  these  and  yet  others  followed  the  fate 
of  the  first,  she  became  less  indulgent.  Switches  were 
cut  from  the  forest  trees,  three  pairs  of  pink  palms 
tingled  with  the  punishment  then  and  there  administered, 
and  the  remembrance  thereof  restrained  my  cousins' 
and  my  own  destructiveness  for  the  remainder  of  the 
journey. 

Arrived  at  Tuscaloosa,  I  spent  four  years  in  the  shelter 
of  the  motherly  affection  of  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Collier,  when, 
her  health  failing,  I  was  placed  in  the  home  of  my  mother's 
brother,  Alfred  Battle,  a  wealthy  planter,  residing  a  day's 
journey  from  the  little  capital.  My  recollections  of  that 
early  Alabama  life  centre  themselves  about  a  great  white 
house  set  in  widening  grounds,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
a  wondrous  sloe -tree,  white  with  blooms.  Many  times 
I  and  my  cousins  played  under  it  by  moonlight,  watching 
the  shadows  of  the  branches  as  they  trembled  on  the 
white-sanded  earth  below,  wondering  at  them,  and  not 
sure  whether  they  were  fairies'  or  angels'  or  witches' 
shapes.  Around  that  tree,  too,  we  played  "Chickamy, 
Chickamy,  Craney  Crow,"  and,  at  the  climax,  "What 
o'clock,  Old  Witch?"  would  scamper  wildly  to  elude  the 
pursuit  of  the  imaginary  old  witch.  Here,  a  healthy  and 
happy  child,  I  pursued  my  studies.  My  uncle's  wife,  a 
woman  of  marked  domestic  tastes,  taught  me  to  sew  and 
knit  and  to  make  a  buttonhole,  and  I  made  progress  in 
books  under  the  guidance  of  a  visiting  teacher;  but,  my 
task  ended,  I  flew  to  the  meadows  and  orchards  and  to 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE  7 

the  full-flowering  clover-field,  or  to  the  plantation  nursery 
to  see  the  old  mammies  feed  the  babies  with  "clabber," 
with  bread  well  crumbed  in  it,  or  cush,  made  of  bread 
soaked  in  gravy  and  softly  mashed. 

It  was  during  this  bucolic  period  of  my  life  that  the 
stars  fell.  I  did  not  witness  these  celestial  phenomena, 
being  sound  asleep  as  a  child  should  be;  but,  for  years 
afterward,  time  was  marked  from  that  great  event.  I 
remember  perfectly  my  aunt's  description  of  it.  People 
ran  from  their  houses  weeping  and  falling  on  their  knees, 
praying  for  mercy  and  forgiveness.  Everywhere  the 
terrifying  belief  spread  that  the  Day  of  Judgment  was  at 
hand;  and  nights  were  made  vocal  with  the  exhortations 
of  the  black  preachers  who  now  became  numerous  upon 
the  plantation.  To  very  recent  days  old  Negroes  have 
dated  their  calendar  from  "de  year  when  de  stars  fell." 

Ah,  me  !  how  long  ago  that  time  of  childhood's  terrors 
and  delights  in  that  young  open  country  !  Of  all  my 
early  playmates,  but  one,  my  cousin  William  Battle, 
remains,  a  twin  relic  of  antiquity !  From  the  first  we 
were  cronies ;  yet  we  had  a  memorable  disagreement  upon 
one  occasion  which  caused  a  slight  breach  between  us. 
We  were  both  intensely  fond  of  my  aunt's  piano,  but  my 
cousin  was  compelled  to  satisfy  his  affection  for  music  in 
secret;  for  Uncle  Battle,  who  heartily  encouraged  my 
efforts,  was  positive  in  his  disapproval  of  those  of  my 
cousin.  \He  thought  piano-playing  in  a  man  to  be  little 
short  of  a  crime,  and  was  quite  resolved  his  son  should  not 
be  guilty  of  it.y  My  cousin  and  I,  therefore,  connived  to 
arrange  our  practice  in  such  a  way  as  would  allow  him  to 
finish  his  practice  at  the  instrument  before  my  uncle's 
return  from  the  day's  duties. 

Upon  the  fatal  occasion  of  our  disagreement,  however, 
I  refused,  upon  my  cousin's  appearance,  to  yield  my 
seat,  whereupon,  losing  his  temper,  he  gave  me  a  tap  on 
the  cheek.     In  a  moment  the   struggle  was  on !     Our 


8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

tussle  was  at  its  height,  I  on  top  and.  pummelling  with  all 
my  might,  when,  the  door  opening  suddenly,  a 
startled  cousin  appeared. 

"La!"  she  exclaimed  in  terror,  "Cousin  Will  and 
Virginia  are  fighting  ! ' ' 

"No,  we're  not!"  I  replied  stoutly.  "We're  just 
playing ;  "  and  I  retired  with  tufts  of  reddish  hair  in  both 
hands,  but  leaving  redder  spots  on  the  face  of  my  cousinly 
antagonist.  He,  thoroughly  satisfied  to  be  released,  no 
longer  desired  to  play  the  piano,  nor  with  me.  His  head 
has  long  been  innocent  of  hair,  an  hereditary  develop- 
ment, but  he  has  always  asserted  that  his  baldness  is 
attributable  to  "  My  cousin,  Mrs.  Clay,  who,  in  our 
youthful  gambols,  scalped  me." 

During  my  twelfth  year,  my  uncle  removed  to  Tusca- 
loosa, where  my  real  school  days  began.  It  was  the  good 
fortune  of  the  young  State  at  that  time  to  have  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  its  capital  many  excellent  teachers, 
among  whom  was  my  instructress  at  the  school  in  Tusca- 
loosa to  which  I  now  was  sent.  I  cannot  refrain  from 
telling  a  strange  incident  in  her  altogether  remarkable 
life.  From  the  beginning  it  was  full  of  unusual  vicissi- 
tudes. By  birth  an  English  gentlewoman,  her  mother 
had  died  while  she  was  yet  an  infant.  In  the  care  of  a 
young  aunt,  the  child  was  sent  to  America  to  be  brought 
up  by  family  connections  residing  here.  On  the  long 
sailing  voyage  the  infant  sickened  and,  to  all  appearances, 
died.  The  ship  was  in  midocean,  and  the  young  guardian, 
blaming  her  own  inexperience,  wept  bitterly  as  prepara- 
tions went  on  for  the  burial.  At  last,  all  else  being  ready, 
the  captain  himself  came  forward  to  sew  the  little  body 
in  the  sack,  which  when  weighted  would  sink  the  hapless 
baby  into  the  sea.  He  bent  over  the  little  form,  arranging 
it,  when  by  some  strange  fortune  a  bottle  of  whisky, 
which  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  was  spilled  and  the  con- 
tents began  to  flow  upon  the  child's  face.     Before  an 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE  9 

exclamation  could  be  made  the  little  one  opened  its  eyes 
and  gave  so  many  evidences  of  life  that  restoratives  were 
applied  promptly.  The  infant  recovered  and  grew  to 
womanhood.  She  became,  when  widowed,  the  mistress 
of  a  school  in  our  little  capital,  and  her  descendants,  in 
many  instances,  have  risen  to  places  of  distinction  in 
public  life. 

An  instructress  of  that  period  to  whom  the  women  of 
early  Alabama  owed  much  was  Maria  Brewster  Brooks, 
who,  as  Mrs.  Stafford,  the  wife  of  Professor  Samuel  M. 
Stafford,  became  celebrated,  and  fills  a  page  of  conspicu- 
ous value  in  the  educational  history  of  the  State.  She 
was  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Merrimac  and  came  to 
Tuscaloosa  in  her  freshest  womanhood.  First  her  pupil, 
and  afterward  her  friend,  our  mutual  affection,  begun 
in  the  early  thirties,  continued  until  her  demise  in 
the  eighties.  Many  of  her  wards  became  in  after  years 
notable  figures  in  the  social  life  of  the  national  capital, 
among  them  Mrs.  Hilary  Herbert. 

In  Tuscaloosa  there  resided,  besides  my  Aunt  Collier, 
few  of  my  father's  and  mother's  kin,  and  by  a 
natural  affinity  I  fell  under  the  guardianship  of  my 
father's  brother,  Thomas  B.  Tunstall,  Secretary  of  State 
of  Alabama.  He  was  a  bachelor;  but  all  that  I  lacked 
in  my  separation  from  my  father  my  uncle  supplied, 
feeding  the  finer  sides  of  my  nature,  and  inspiring  in  me 
a  love  of  things  literary  even  at  an  age  when  I  had 
scarce  handled  a  book.  My  uncle's  influence  began  with 
my  earliest  days  in  Alabama.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Collier, 
was  delicate,  Mrs.  Battle  domestic ;  Uncle  Battle  was  a 
famous  business  man;  and  Uncle  Collier  was  immersed 
in  law  and  increasing  political  interests ;  but  my  memory 
crowds  with  pictures  of  my  Uncle  Tom,  walking  slowly 
up  and  down,  playing  his  violin,  and  interspersing  his 
numbers  with  some  wise  counsel  to  the  child  beside  him. 
He  taught  me  orally   of  poetry,  and   music,   of  letters 


io  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

and  philosophy,  and  of  the  great  world's  great  interests. 
He  early  instilled  in  me  a  pride  of  family,  while  reading 
to  me  Scott's  fine  tribute  to  Brian  Tunstall,  "the  stain- 
less knight,"  or,  as  he  rehearsed  stories  of  Sir  Cuthbert 
Tunstall,  Knight  of  the  Garter,  and  Bishop  of  London 
in  the  time  of  gentle  Queen  Anne ;  and  it  was  in  good 
uncle  Tom's  and  my  father's  company  that  the  fascina- 
tions of  the  drama  were   first  revealed  to  me. 

While  I  was  yet  a  school-girl,  and  so  green  that,  had  I 
not  been  protected  by  these  two  loving  guardians,  I  would 
have  been  eaten  up  by  the  cows  on  the  Mobile  meadows,  I 
was  taken  to  see  "The  Gamester,"  in  which  Charles  Kean 
and  Ellen  Tree  were  pla}ang.  It  was  a  remarkable  and 
ever-remembered  experience.  As  the  play  proceeded,  I 
became  so  absorbed  in  the  story,  so  real  and  so  thrillingly 
portrayed,  that  from  silent  weeping  I  took  to  sniffling  and 
from  sniffling  to  ill-repressed  sobbing.  I  leaned  forward 
in  my  seat  tensely,  keeping  my  eyes  upon  the  stage,  and 
equally  oblivious  of  my  father  and  uncle  and  the  strangers 
who  were  gazing  at  me  on  every  side.  Now  and  then,  as 
I  sopped  the  briny  outflow  of  my  grief,  realising  in  some 
mechanical  manner  that  my  handkerchief  was  wet,  I 
would  take  it  by  two  corners  and  wave  it  back  and  forth 
in  an  effort  to  dry  it;  but  all  the  while  the  tears  gushed 
from  my  eyes  in  rivulets.  My  guardians  saw  little  of 
the  play  that  night,  for  the  amusement  I  afforded  these 
experienced  theatre-goers  altogether  exceeded  in  interest 
the  mimic  tragedy  that  so  enthralled  me. 

When  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  death-scene  I  was 
exhausted;  but  another  and  counteracting  experience 
awaited  me,  for  the  after-piece  was  "Robert  Macaire," 
and  now,  heartily  as  I  had  wept  before,  I  became  con- 
vulsed with  laughter  as  I  saw  the  deft  pickpocket 
(impersonated  by  Crisp,  the  comedian) ,  courtly  as  a  king, 
bowing  in  the  dance,  while  removing  from  the  unsuspect- 
ing ladies  and  gentlemen  about  him  their  brooches  and 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE        n 

jewels !  My  absorption  in  the  performance  was  so  great 
that  I  scarce  heard  the  admonitions  of  my  father  and 
uncle,  who  begged  me,  in  whispers,  to  control  myself. 
Nor  did  I  realise  there  was  another  person  in  the  house 
but  the  performers  on  the  stage  and  myself. 

Years  afterward,  while  travelling  with  my  husband, 
he  recognised  in  a  fellow  traveller  a  former  friend  from 
southern  Alabama,  a  Mr.  Montague,  and  brought  him  to 
me  to  present  him.  To  my  chagrin,  he  had  scarcely 
taken  my  hand  when  he  burst  into  immoderate  and  in- 
explicable laughter. 

"Never,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Clay,  "shall  I  forget  the  time 
when  I  first  saw  your  wife  !  We  went  to  see  Tree ;  but, 
sir,  not  half  the  house  knew  what  was  going  on  on  the 
stage  for  watching  the  little  girl  in  the  auditorium ! 
Never  till  then  had  I  imagined  the  full  power  of  the 
drama !  Her  delight,  her  tears  and  laughter,  I  am  sure, 
were  remembered  by  the  Mobilians  long  after  the  '  stars ' 
acting  was  forgotten." 

That  visit  to  Mobile  was  my  first  flight  into  the  beautiful 
world  that  lay  beyond  the  horizon  of  my  school  life.  In 
the  enjoyments  devised  for  me  by  my  father  in  those  few 
charmed  days,  I  saw,  if  not  clearly,  at  least  prophetically, 
what  of  beauty  and  joy  life  might  hold  for  me.  Upon 
our  arrival  in  the  lovely  little  Bay  city,  my  father,  learning 
of  a  ball  for  which  preparations  were  on  foot,  determined 
I  should  attend  it.  Guided  perhaps  in  his  choice 
of  colour  by  the  tints  of  health  that  lay  in  his  little 
daughter's  cheeks,  he  selected  for  me  a  gown  of  peach- 
blossom  silk,  which  all  my  life  I  have  remembered  as  the 
most  beautiful  of  dresses,  and  one  which  transformed  me, 
heretofore  confined  to  brown  holland  gowns  by  my 
prudent  aunt,  Mrs.  Battle,  as  truly  as  Cinderella  was 
changed  into  a  princess. 

Upon  the  evening  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  Boat 
Club   Ball,   blushing  and  happy,   eager,   with  delightful 


i2  A  BELLE    OF  THE  FIFTIES 

anticipations,  yet  timorous,  too,  for  my  guardians,  the 
Battles,  had  disapproved  of  dancing  and  had  rigorously 
excluded  this  and  other  worldly  pleasures  from  their 
ward's  accomplishments,  I  was  conducted  by  my  father 
to  the  ball.  In  my  heart  lay  the  fear  that  I  would  be, 
after  all,  a  mere  looker-on,  or  appear  awkward  if  I  should 
venture  to  dance  as  did  the  others ;  but  neither  of  these 
misgivings  proved  to  have  been  well  founded. 

My  father  led  me  at  once  to  Mme.  Le  Vert,  then  the 
reigning  queen  of  every  gathering  at  which  she  appeared, 
and  in  her  safe  hands  every  fear  vanished.  I  had  heard 
my  elders  speak  frequently  of  her  beauty,  and  somehow 
had  imagined  her  tall.  She  was  less  so  than  I  had 
pictured,  but  so  winning  and  cordial  to  me,  a  timid  child, 
that  I  at  once  capitulated  before  the  charm  she  cast  over 
everyone  who  came  into  conversation  with  her.  I 
thought  her  face  the  sweetest  I  had  ever  seen.  She  had 
a  grace  and  frankness  which  made  everyone  with  whom 
she  talked  feel  that  he  or  she  alone  commanded  her 
attention.  I  do  not  recall  her  making  a  single  bon  mot, 
but  she  was  vivacious  and  smiling.  Her  charm,  it 
seemed  to  me,  lay  in  her  lovely  manners  and  person  and 
her  permeating  intellectuality. 

I  remember  Mme.  Le  Vert's  appearance  on  that  occasion 
distinctly,  though  to  describe  it  now  seems  garish.  To 
see  her  then  was  bewildering,  and  all  her  colour  was 
harmony.  She  wore  a  gown  of  golden  satin,  and  on  her 
hair  a  wreath  of  coral  flowers,  which  her  morocco  shoes 
matched  in  hue.  In  the  dance  she  moved  like  a  bird  on 
the  wing.  I  can  see  her  now  in  her  shining  robe,  as  she 
swayed  and  glided,  holding  the  shimmering  gown  aside 
as  she  floated  through  the  "ladies'  chain."  The  first 
dance  of  my  life  was  a  quadrille,  viz-a-vis  with  this 
renowned  beauty,  who  took  me  under  her  protection  and 
encouraged  me  from  time  to  time. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  my  dear,"  she  would  sweetly  say. 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE         13 

"Do  just  as  I  do,"  and  I  glided  after  my  wonderful  in- 
structress   like    one    enchanted,    with    never   a   mishap. 

Mme.  Le  Vert,  who  in  years  to  come  became  internation- 
ally celebrated,  was  a  kinswoman  of  Clement  Claiborne 
Clay,  and  in  after  times,  when  I  became  his  wife,  I  often 
met  her,  but  throughout  my  long  life  I  have  remembered 
that  first  meeting  in  Mobile,  and  her  charm  and  grace 
have  remained  a  prized  picture  in  my  memory.  It  was 
of  this  exquisite  belle  that  Washington  Irving  remarked : 
"  But  one  such  woman  is  born  in  the  course  of  an 
empire." 

It  was  to  my  Uncle  Tom  that  I  owed  the  one  love  sorrow 
of  my  life.  It  was  an  affair  of  the  greatest  intensity 
while  it  endured,  and  was  attended  by  the  utmost 
anguish  for  some  twelve  or  fourteen  hours.  During 
that  space  of  time  I  endured  all  the  hopes  and  fears,  the 
yearnings  and  despairs  to  which  the  human  heart  is  victim. 

I  was  nearing  the  age  of  fifteen  when  my  uncle  one 
evening  bade  me  put  on  my  prettiest  frock  and  accom- 
pany him  to  the  home  of  a  friend,  where  a  dance  was  to 
be  given.  I  was  dressed  with  all  the  alacrity  my  old 
mammy  was  capable  of  summoning,  and  was  soon 
ensconced  in  the  carriage  and  on  my  way  to  the  hospi- 
table scene.  En  route  we  stopped  at  the  hotel,  where  my 
uncle  alighted,  reappearing  in  a  moment  with  a  very  hand- 
some young  man,  who  entered  the  carriage  with  him  and 
drove  with  us  to  the  house,  where  he,  too,  was  to  be  a  guest. 

Never  had  my  eyes  beheld  so  pleasing  a  masculine 
wonder !  He  was  the  personification  of  manly  beauty ! 
His  head  was  shapely  as  Tasso's  (in  after  life  I  often  heard 
the  comparison  made),  and  in  his  eyes  there  burned  a 
romantic  fire  that  enslaved  me  from  the  moment  their 
gaze  rested  upon  me.  At  their  warmth  all  the  ardour, 
all  the  ideals  upon  which  a  romantic  heart  had  fed  rose 
in  recognition  of  their  realisation  in  him.  During  the 
evening  he  paid  me  some  pretty  compliments,  remarking 


i4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

upon  my  hazel  eyes  and  the  gleam  of  gold  in  my  hair, 
and  he  touched  my  curls  admiringly,  as  if  they  were 
revered  by  him. 

My  head  swam  !  Lohengrin  never  dazzled  Elsa  more 
completely  than  did  this  knight  of  the  poet's  head  charm 
the  maiden  that  was  I !  We  danced  together  frequently 
throughout  the  evening,  and  my  hero  rendered  me 
every  attention  a  kind  man  may  offer  to  the  little 
daughter  of  a  valued  friend.  When  at  last  we  stepped 
into  the  carriage  and  turned  homeward,  the  whole  world 
was  changed  for  me. 

My  first  apprehension  of  approaching  sorrow  came  as  we 
neared  the  hotel.  To  my  surprise,  the  knight  was  willing, 
nay,  desired  to  be  set  down  there.  A  dark  suspicion  crept 
into  my  mind  that  perhaps,  after  all,  my  hero  might  be 
less  gallant  than  I  had  supposed,  else  why  did  he  not 
seek  this  opportunity  of  riding  home  with  me?  If  this 
wonderful  emotion  that  possessed  me  also  had  actuated 
him — and  how  could  I  doubt  it  after  his  devotion  through- 
out the  evening? — how  could  he  bear  to  part  from  me 
in  this  way  without  a  single  word  or  look  of  tenderness  ? 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  I  leaned  back  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  carriage  and  thought  hard,  though 
not  hardly  of  him.  After  a  little  my  uncle  roused  me  by 
saying,   "Did  my  little  daughter  enjoy  this  evening?" 

I  responded  enthusiastically. 

"  And  was  I  not  kind  to  provide  you  with  such  a  gallant 
cavalier  ?     Isn't  Colonel  Jere  Clemens  a  handsome  man  ? " 

Ah,  was  he  not?  My  full  heart  sang  out  his  praises 
with  an  unmistakable  note.  My  uncle  listened  sym- 
pathetically. Then  he  continued,  "Yes,  he's  a  fine 
fellow !  A  fine  fellow,  Virginia,  and  he  has  a  nice  little 
wife  and  baby !" 

No  thunderbolt  ever  fell  more  crushingly  upon  the 
unsuspecting  than  did  these  awful  words  from  the  lips 
of  my  uncle  !     I  know  not  how  I  reached  my  room,  but 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE        15 

once  there  I  wept  passionately  throughout  the  night  and 
much  of  the  following  morning.  Within  my  own  heart 
I  accused  my  erstwhile  hero  of  the  rankest  perfidy;  of 
villainy  of  every  imaginable  quality;  and  in  this  recoil 
of  injured  pride  perished  my  first  love  dream,  vanished 
the  heroic  wrappings  of  my  quondam  knight ! 

Having  finished  the  curriculum  of  the  institute  presided 
over  by  Miss  Brooks,  I  was  sent  to  the  "  Female  Academy  " 
at  Nashville,  Tennessee,  to  perfect  my  studies  in  music 
and  literature,  whence  I  returned  to  Tuscaloosa  all  but 
betrothed  to  Alexander  Keith  McClung,  already  a  famous 
duellist.  I  met  him  during  a  visit  to  my  Uncle  Fort's 
home,  in  Columbus,  Mississippi,  and  the  Colonel's  devo- 
tion to  me  for  many  months  was  the  talk  of  two  States.  He 
was  the  gallantest  lover  that  ever  knelt  at  a  lady's  feet ! 
Many  a  winsome  girl  admired  him,  and  my  sweet  cousin, 
Martha  Fort,  was  wont  to  say  she  would  "rather  marry 
Colonel  McClung  than  any  man  alive ' ' ;  but  I — I  loved 
him  madly  while  with  him,  but  feared  him  when  away 
from  him;  for  he  was  a  man  of  fitful,  uncertain  moods 
and  given  to  periods  of  the  deepest  melancholy.  At  such 
times  he  would  mount  his  horse  "Rob  Roy,"  wild  and 
untamable  as  himself,  and  dash  to  the  cemetery,  where 
he  would  throw  himself  down  on  a  convenient  grave  and 
stare  like  a  madman  into  the  sky  for  hours.  A  man  of 
reckless  bravery,  in  after  years  he  was  the  first  to  mount 
the  ramparts  of  Monterey  shouting  victory.  As  he  ran, 
carrying  his  country's  flag  in  his  right  hand,  a  shot 
whizzing  by  took  off  two  fingers  of  his  left. 

I  was  thrown  much  in  the  company  of  Colonel  McClung 
while  at  my  uncle's  home,  but  resisted  his  pleading  for 
a  binding  engagement,  telling  him  with  a  strange  courage 
and  frankness,  ere  I  left  Columbus,  my  reason  for  this 
persistent  indecision.  Before  leaving  for  the  academy 
at  Nashville,  I  had  met,  at  my  Uncle  Collier's,  in  Tusca- 
loosa, the  young  legislator,  Clement  C.  Clay,  Jr.,  and  had 


i6  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

then  had  a  premonition  that  if  we  should  meet  when  I 
returned  from  school  I  would  marry  him.  At  that  time 
I  was  an  unformed  girl,  and  he,  Mr.  Clay,  was  devoted 
to  a  young  lady  of  the  capital ;  but  this,  as  I  knew,  was  a 
matter  of  the  past.  I  would  surely  meet  him  again  at 
Uncle  Collier's  (I  told  Mr.  McClung) ,  and,  if  the  attraction 
continued,  I  felt  sure  I  would  marry  him.  If  not,  I 
would  marry  him,  Colonel  McClung.  So  we  parted,  and, 
though  at  that  time  the  Colonel  did  not  doubt  but  that 
mine  was  a  dreaming  girl's  talk,  my  premonitions  were 
promptly  realised. 

Upon  my  return  to  our  provincial  little  capital,  then 

a  community  of  six  thousand  souls,  I  found  it  thronging 

with  gallants  from  every  county  in  the  State.     The  belles 

of  the  town,  in  preparation  for  the  gayety  of  the  legislative 

"season"  of  two  months,  were  resplendent  in  fresh  and 

fashionable    toilettes.     Escritoires    were    stocked    with 

stationery  suitable  for  the  billet-doux  that  were  sure  to  be 

I  required;  and  there,  too,  were  the  little  boxes  of  glazed 

mottoed  wafers,  then  all  the  fashion,  with  which  to  seal 

the  pretty  missives.     All  the  swains  of  that  day  wrote 

J  in  verse  to  the   ladies  they  admired,  and  each  tender 

-rhyme  required  a  suitably  presented  acknowledgment.     I 

remember,  though  I  have  preserved  none  save  those  my 

husband  wrote  me,  several  creditable  effusions  by  Colonel 

McClung,  one  of  which  began : 

"Fearful  and  green  your  breathless  poet  stands,"  etc. 

Shortly  after  my  return  from  Columbus,  I  attended  a 
ball  where  I  danced  with  William  L.  Yancey,  even  then 
recognised  for  the  splendour  of  his  intellectual  powers 
and  his  eloquence  in  the  forum.  I  had  heard  him  speak, 
and  thought  his  address  superb,  and  I  told  him  so. 

"Ah,"  he  answered  gayly,  "if  it  had  not  been  for  one 
pair  of  hazel  eyes  I  should  have  been  submerged  in  a 
mere  sea  of  rhetoric  ! ' ' 

On  the  night  of  my  dance  with  him  I  wore  a  white 


CHILDHOOD,  GIRLHOOD,  MARRIAGE        17 

feather  in  my  hair,  and  on  the  morrow  a  messenger 
from  Mr.  Yancey  bore  me  some  charming  verses,  ad- 
dressed "To  the  lady  with  the  snow-white  plume  !" 

I  have  said  my  strange  premonitions  regarding  Mr. 
Clay  were  realised.  Ten  days  after  we  met  we  were 
affianced.  There  was  a  hastily  gathered  trousseau 
selected  in  part  by  Mme.  LeVert  in  Mobile,  and  hurried 
on  to  my  aunt's  home.  A  month  later,  and  our  mar- 
riage was  celebrated  with  all  the  eclat  our  little  city 
could  provide,  and  the  congratulations  of  a  circle  of 
friends  that  included  half  the  inhabitants.  It  is  sixty 
years  since  that  wonderful  wedding  day,  and  of  the 
maidens  who  attended  me — there  were  six — and  the 
happy  company  that  thronged  Judge  Collier's  home  on 
that  crisp  February  morning  when  I  crossed  the  Rubicon 
of  life,  all— even  the  bridegroom — have  passed  long  since 
into  the  shadowy  company  of  memory  and  the  dead. 

That  marriage  feast  in  the  morn  of  my  life  was  beautiful ; 
the  low,  spacious  house  of  primitive  architecture  was 
white  with  hyacinths,  and  foliage  decorated  every  avail- 
able space.  The  legislature  came  in  a  body,  solons  of 
the  State,  and  young  aspirants  for  fame;  the  president 
and  faculty  of  the  State  University,  of  which  Mr.  Clay 
was  a  favoured  son;  Dr.  Capers,  afterward  Bishop  of 
South  Carolina,  officiated,  and,  in  that  glorious  company 
of  old  Alabamians,  my  identity  as  Virginia  Tunstall  was 
merged  forever  with  that  of  the  rising  young  statesman, 
Clement  C.  Clay,  Jr. 

A  week  of  festivity  followed  the  ceremony,  and  then  my 
husband  took  me  to  my  future  home,  among  his  people, 
in  the  northern  part  of  the  State.  There  being  no  rail- 
road connection  between  Tuscaloosa  and  Huntsville  in 
those  days  (the  early  forties),  we  made  the  journey  from 
the  capital  in  a  big  four-wheeled  stage-coach.  The 
stretch  of  country  now  comprised  in  the  active  city  of 
Birmingham,  the  southern  Pittsburg,  was  then  a  rugged 


i8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

place  of  rocks  and  boulders  over  which  our  vehicle 
pitched  perilously.  Stone  Mountain  reached,  we  were 
obliged  to  descend  and  pick  our  way  on  foot,  the  roughness 
of  the  road  making  the  passage  of  the  coach  a  very 
dangerous  one.  But  these  difficulties  only  lent  a  charm 
to  us,  for  the  whole  world  was  enwrapped  in  the 
glamour  of  our  youthful  joys.  The  sunsets,  blazing 
crimson  on  the  horizon,  seemed  gloriously  to  proclaim,  the 
sunrise  of  our  life. 

We  arrived  in  Huntsville  on  the  evening  of  the  second 
day  of  our  journey.  Our  driver,  enthusiastically  proud  of 
his  part  in  the  home -bringing  of  the  bride,  touched  up 
the  spirited  horses  as  we  crossed  the  Public  Square  and 
blew  a  bugle  blast  as  we  wheeled  round  the  corner; 
when,  fairly  dashing  down  Clinton  Street,  he  pulled  up 
in  masterly  style  in  front  of  "Clay  Castle."  It  was 
wide  and  low  and  spacious,  as  were  all  the  affluent  homes 
of  that  day,  and  now  was  ablaze  with  candles  to  welcome 
the  travellers.  All  along  the  streets  friendly  hands  and 
kerchiefs  had  waved  a  welcome  to  us.  Here,  within, 
awaited  a  great  gathering  of  family  and  friends  eager  to 
see  the  chosen  bride  of  a  well-loved  son.  This  was  my 
home-coming  to  Huntsville,  thereafter  to  be  my  haven 
for  all  time,  though  called  in  a  few  years  by  my  husband's 
growing  reputation  to  take  my  place  beside  him  in 
Congressional  circles  at  Washington. 


CHAPTER  II 

Washington  Personages  in  the  Fifties 

When  my  husband's  parents  were  members  of  the 
Congressional  circle  in  Washington — 1829-'35 — the  jour- 
ney to  the  capital  from  their  home  in  northern  Alabama 
was  no  light  undertaking.  In  those  early  days  Congress- 
man (afterward  Governor,  and  United  States  Senator) 
and  Mrs.  C.  C.  Clay,  Sr.,  travelled  by  coach  to  the  Federal 
City,  accompanied  by  their  coloured  coachman,  Toney 
(who,  because  of  his  expert  driving,  soon  became  notable 
in  Washington),  and  a  maid-servant,  Milly,  who  were 
necessary  to  their  comfort  and  station.  Many  days  were 
consumed  in  these  journeys,  that  lay  through  Tennessee, 
the  Carolinas  and  Virginia,  during  which  the  travellers 
were  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  common  to  a  young  and 
often  unsettled  forest  country.  The  tangled  woods  of  the 
South  land,  odorous  with  the  cedar  or  blossoming  with 
dogwood,  mimosa  or  magnolias,  were  often  Arcadias  of 
beauty.  The  land  of  the  sky,  now  the  object  of  pilgrim- 
ages for  the  wealthy  and  become  the  site  of  palaces  built 
by  kings  of  commerce,  was  then  still  more  beautiful 
with  primeval  freshness.  Far  as  the  eye  could  see,  as 
hills  were  scaled  and  valleys  crossed,  were  verdured  slopes 
and  wooded  mountain  crests.  The  Palisades  of  the 
Tennessee,  as  yet  scarcely  penetrated  by  Northern  tour- 
ists, were  then  the  wonder  as  they  still  are  the  pride  of  the 
traveller  from  the  South. 

In  1853,  my  husband  was  elected  a  United  States 
Senator,  to  take  the  seat  of  a  former  college  friend,  Jere 
Clemens,  whose  term  had  just  expired,  and  succeeding 

19 


2o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

his  father  C.  C.  Clay,  Sr.,  after  eleven  years.  In  Decem- 
ber of  the  same  year,  we  began  our  trip  to  the  capital 
under  comparatively  modern  conditions.  My  several  - 
visits  to  Vermont  and  New  Jersey  Hydropathic  Cures, 
then  the  fashionable  sanitariums,  had  already  inured 
me  to  long  journeys.  By  this  time  steam  railways  had 
been  established,  and,  though  not  so  systematically  con- 
nected as  to  make  possible  the  taking  of  long  trips  over 
great  distances  without  devious  and  tiresome  changes, 
they  had  lessened  the  time  spent  upon  the  road  between 
Alabama  and  Washington  very  appreciably;  but, 
while  in  comparison  with  those  in  common  use  to-day, 
the  cars  were  primitive,  nevertheless  they  were  marvels 
of  comfort  and  speed  to  the  traveller-s^pfthe^  fifties.  Sleep- 
ing cars  were  not  yet  invented,  but  the  double-action  seat- 
backs  of  the  regular  coaches,  not  then,  as  now,  screwed 
down  inexorably,  made  it  a  simple  matter  to  convert  two 
seats  into  a  kind  of  couch,  on  which,  with  the  aid  of  a 
pillow,  one  managed  very  well  to  secure  a  half  repose  as 
the  cars  moved  soberly  along. 

Our  train  on  that  first  official  journey  to  Washington 
proved  to  be  a  kind  of  inchoative  "  Congressional  Lim- 
ited." We  found  many  of  our  fellow  passengers  to  be 
native  Alabamians,  the  majority  being  on  government 
business  bent.  Among  them  were  my  husband's  confrere 
from  southern  Alabama,  Senator  Fitzpatrick  and  his  wife, 
and  a  friendship  was  then  and  there  begun  among  us, 
which  lasted  uninterruptedly  until  death  detached  some 
of  the  parties  to  it;  also  Congressman  Dowdell,  "dear 
old  Dowdell,"  as  my  husband  and  everyone  in  the  House 
shortly  learned  to  call  him,  and  James  L.  Orr  of  South 
Carolina,  who  afterward  became  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  and  Minister  to  Russia  under  Presi- 
dent Grant.  Mr.  Orr,  late  in  i860,  was  one  of  the  three 
commissioners  sent  by  South  Carolina  to  President 
Buchanan  to  arbitrate  on  the  question  of  the  withdrawal 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     2 1 

of  United  States  troops  from  Forts  Sumter  and  Moultrie, 
in  Charleston  Harbour. 

Nor  should  I  omit  to  name  the  most  conspicuous  man 
on  that  memorable  north-bound  train,  Congressman 
W.  R.  W.  Cobb,  who  called  himself  the  "maker  of  Sena- 
tors," and  whom  people  called  the  most  successful  vote- 
poller  in  the  State  of  Alabama.  Mr.  Cobb  resorted  to  all 
sorts  of  tricks  to  catch  the  popular  votes,  such  as  the 
rattling  of  tinware  and  crockery — he  had  introduced 
bills  to  secure  indigent  whites  from  a  seizure  for  debt  that 
would  engulf  all  their  possessions,  and  in  them  had 
minutely  defined  all  articles  that  were  to  be  thus  exempt, 
not  scorning  to  enumerate  the  smallest  items  of  the 
kitchen — ,  and  he  delighted  in  the  singing  of  homely  songs 
composed  for  stump  purposes.  One  of  these  which  he  was 
wont  to  introduce  at  the  end  of  a  speech,  and  which 
always  seemed  to  be  especially  his  own,  was  called  "The 
Homestead  Bill."  Of  this  remarkable  composition  there 
were  a  score  of  verses,  at  least,  that  covered  every 
possible  possession  which  the  heart  of  the  poor  man 
might  crave,  ranging  from  land  and  mules  to  household 
furniture.     The  song  began, 

"  Uncle  Sam  is  rich  enough  to  give  us  all  a  farm  ! " 
and  Mr.  Cobb  would  sing  it  in  stentorian  tones,  winking, 
as  he  did  so,  to  first  one  and.then  another  of  his  admiring 
listeners,  and  punctuating  his  phrases  by  chewing,  with 
great  gusto,  a  piece  of  onion  and  the  coarsest  of  corn 
"pone."  These  evidences  of  his  democracy  gave  huge 
delight  to  the  masses,  though  it  aroused  in  me,  a  young 
wife,  great  indignation,  that,  in  the  exigencies  of  a  public 
career  my  husband  should  be  compelled  to  enter  a  con- 
test with  such  a  man.  To  me  it  was  the  meeting  of  a 
Damascus  blade  and  a  meat-axe,  and  in  my  soul  I 
resented  it. 

In  1849  this  stump-favourite  had  defeated  the  brilliant 
Jere  Clemens,   then  a  candidate  for  Congress,  but  im- 


22  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

mediately  thereafter  Mr.  Clemens  was  named  for  the 
higher  office  of  U.  S.  Senator  and  elected.  In  1853  an 
exactly  similar  conjunction  of  circumstances  resulted  in 
the  election  of  Mr.  Clay.  I  accompanied  my  husband 
during  the  canvass  in  which  he  was  defeated,  and  thereby 
became,  though  altogether  innocently,  the  one  obstacle 
to  Mr.  Cobb's  usually  unanimous  election. 

It  happened  that  during  the  campaign  Mr.  Clay  and 
I  stopped  at  a  little  hostelry,  that  lay  in  the  very  centre 
of  one  of  Mr.  Cobb's  strongest  counties.  It  was  little 
more  than  a  flower-embowered  cottage,  kept  by  "Aunt 
Hannah,"  a  kindly  soul,  whose  greatest  treasure  was  a 
fresh-faced,  pretty  daughter,  then  entering  her  "teens." 
I  returned  to  our  room  after  a  short  absence,  just  in  time 
to  see  this  village  beauty  before  my  mirror,  arrayed  in 
all  the  glory  of  a  beautiful  and  picturesque  hat  which 
I  had  left  upon  the  bed  during  my  absence.  It  was  a 
lovely  thing  of  the  period,  which  I  had  but  recently 
brought  back  from  the  North,  having  purchased  it  while 
en  route  for  Doctor  Wesselhceft's  Hydropathic  Institute 
in  Brattleboro,  Vermont. 

The  little  rustic  girl  of  Alabama  looked  very  winsome 
and  blossomy  in  the  pretty  gew-gaw,  and  I  asked  her 
impulsively  if  she  liked  it.  Her  confusion  was  sufficient 
answer,  and  I  promptly  presented  it  to  her,  on  con- 
dition that  she  would  give  me  her  sunbonnet  in 
return. 

The  exchange  was  quickly  made,  and  when  Mr.  Clay 
and  I  departed  I  wore  a  pea-green  cambric  bonnet, 
lined  with  pink  and  stiffened  with  pasteboard  slats.  I 
little  dreamed  that  this  exchange  of  millinery,  so  unpre- 
meditated, and  certainly  uncalculating,  was  a  political 
master-stroke;  but,  so  it  proved.  It  undermined  Mr. 
Cobb's  Gibraltar;  for  at  the  election  that  followed,  the 
vote  in  that  county  was  practically  solid  for  Mr.  Clay, 
where  formerly  Mr.  Cobb  had  swept  it  clean. 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     23 

When,  upon  the  train  en  route  for  the  capital  in  the 
winter  of  '53,  Senator  Fitzpatrick  insisted  upon  presenting 
the  erstwhile  triumphant  politician,  I  took  the  long, 
flail-like  hand  he  offered  me  with  no  accentuated  cor- 
diality ;  my  reserve,  however,  seemed  not  to  disturb  Mr. 
Cobb's  proverbial  complacency. 

"I've  got  a  crow  to  pick  with  you,  Mrs.  Clay,"  he 
began,  "  for  that  pink  bonnet  trick  at  old  Aunt  Hannah's ! ' ' 

"  And  I  have  a  buzzard  to  pick  with  you  ! "  I  responded 
promptly,  "for  defeating  my  husband  !" 

"You  ought  to  feel  obliged  to  me,"  retorted  the  Con- 
gressman, continuing  "For  I  made  your  husband  a 
Senator !" 

"Well,"  I  rejoined,  "I'll  promise  not  to  repeat  the 
bonnet  business,  if  you'll  give  me  your  word  never  again 
to  sing  against  my  husband  !  That's  unfair,  for  you  know 
he  can't  sing!"  which,  amid  the  laughter  of  our  fellow- 
passengers,  Mr.  Cobb  promised. 

Our  entrance  into  the  Federal  City  was  not  without 
its  humorous  side.  We  arrived  in  the  early  morning, 
about  two  o'clock,  driving  up  to  the  National  Hotel, 
where,  owing  to  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  the  night- 
clerk,  an  incident  occurred  with  which  for  many  a  day 
I  twitted  my  husband  and  our  male  companions  on 
that  eventful  occasion. 

At  that  period  it  was  the  almost  universal  custom  for 
Southern  gentlemen  to  wear  soft  felt  hats,  and  the  fashion 
was  invariable  when  travelling.  In  winter,  too,  long- 
distance voyagers  as  commonly  wrapped  themselves  in 
the  blanket  shawl,  which  was  thrown  around  the  shoulders 
in  picturesque  fashion  and  was  certainly  comfortable,  if 
not  strictly  a  la  mode.  My  husband  and  the  other  gentle- 
men of  our  party  were  so  provided  on  our  journey  north- 
ward, and  upon  our  arrival,  it  must  be  admitted,  none 
in  that  travel-stained  and  weary  company  would  have 
been  mistaken  for  a  Washington  exquisite  of  the  period. 


24  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

As  our  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel  door,  Mr. 
Dowdell,  muffled  to  the  ears,  his  soft -brimmed  hat  well 
down  over  his  face  (for  the  wind  was  keen),  stepped  out 
quickly  to  arrange  for  our  accommodation.  The  night 
was  bitterly  cold,  and  the  others  of  our  company  were 
glad  to  remain  under  cover  until  our  spokesman  returned. 

This  he  did  in  a  moment  or  two.  He  appeared  crest- 
fallen, and  quite  at  a  loss. 

"  Nothing  here,  Clay  ! "  he  said  to  my  husband.  "  Man 
says  they  have  no  rooms  ! ' ' 

"Nonsense,  Dowdell!"  was  Senator  Clay's  response. 
"  You  must  be  mistaken.  Here,  step  inside  while  I 
inquire!"  He,  muffled  as  mysteriously,  and  in  no  whit 
more  trust-inspiring  than  the  dejected  Mr.  Dowdell,  strode 
confidently  in.  Not  many  minutes  elapsed  ere  he,  too, 
returned. 

"  Well ! "  he  said.  "  I  don't  understand  it,  but  Dowdell's 
right !     They  say  they  have  no  rooms  for  us  ! " 

At  this  we  were  dismayed,  and  a  chorus  of  exclama- 
tions went  up  from  men  and  women  alike.  What  were 
we  to  do  ?     In  a  moment,  I  had  resolved. 

"  There's  some  mistake  !  I  don't  believe  it,"  I  said.  "  I'll 
go  and  see;"  and,  notwithstanding  my  husband's  remon- 
strances, I  hurried  out  of  the  carriage  and  into  the  hotel. 
Stepping  to  the  desk  I  said  to  the  clerk  in  charge:  "Is  it 
possible  you  have  no  rooms  for  our  party  in  this  large 
hostelry?  Is  it  possible,  Sir,  that  at  this  season,  when 
Congress  is  convening,  you  have  reserved  no  rooms  for 
Congressional  guests  ? ' '  He  stammered  out  some  con- 
fused reply,  but  I  hurried  on. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Clay,  of  Alabama.  You  have  refused  my 
husband,  Senator  Clay,  and  his  friend,  Representative 
Dowdell.     What  does  it  mean?" 

"  Why,  certainly,  Madam,"  he  hastened  to  say,  "I  have 
rooms  for  those."  And  forthwith  ordered  the  porters  to 
go  for  our  luggage.     Then,  reaching  hurriedly  for  various 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     25 

keys,  he  added,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madam  !  I  did  not 
know  you  were  those  ! ' ' 

What  he  did  believe  us  to  be,  piloted  as  we  were  by 
two  such  brigand-like  gentlemen  as  Senator  Clay  and 
Mr.  Dowdell,  we  never  knew;  enough  that  our  tired 
party  were  soon  installed  in  comfortable  apartments. 
It  was  by  reason  of  this  significant  episode  that  I  first 
realized  the  potency  in  Washington  of  conventional 
apparel  and  Congressional  titles. 

My  husband  being  duly  sworn  in  on  the  14th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1853,  in  a  few  days  our  "mess"  was  established  at 
the  home  of  Mr.  Charles  Gardner,  at  Thirteenth  and  G 
Streets.  Here  my  first  season  in  Washington  was  spent. 
Besides  Senator  Clay  and  myself,  our  party  was  com- 
posed of  Senator  and  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  and  Representa- 
tives Dowdell  and  Orr,  and  to  this  little  nucleus  of  con- 
genial spirits  were  afterward  added  in  our  later  resi- 
dences at  historic  old  Brown's  Hotel  and  the  Ebbitt 
House,  many  whose  names  are  known  to  the  nation. 

Though  a  sad  winter  for  me,  for  in  it  I  bore  and  buried 
my  only  child,  yet  my  recollections  of  that  season,  as  its 
echoes  reached  our  quiet  parlours,  are  those  of  boundless 
entertainment  and  bewildering  ceremony.  The  season 
was  made  notable  in  the  fashionable  world  by  the  great 
fete  champetre  given  by  the  British  Minister,  Mr.  Cramp- 
ton,  and  the  pompous  obsequies  of  Baron  Bodisco,  for 
many  years  resident  Minister  from  Russia;  but  of  these 
I  learned  only  through  my  ever  kind  friend,  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick, who  for  months  was  my  one  medium  of  com- 
munication with  the  fashionable  outside  world.  She  was 
a  beautiful  woman,  with  superb  carriage  and  rare  and 
rich  colouring,  and  possessed,  besides,  a  voice  of  great 
sweetness,  with  which,  during  that  winter  of  seclusion,  she 
often  made  our  simple  evenings  a  delight.  While  shortly 
she  became  a  leader  in  matters  social,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick 
was  still  more  exalted  in  our  own  little  circle  for  her 


26  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

singing  of  such  charming  songs  as  "Roy's  Wife  of 
Aldivalloch,"  and  other  quaint  Scotch  ditties.  Nor  was 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  the  one  musician  of  our  "mess,"  for 
Mr.  Dowdell  had  a  goodly  voice  and  sang  with  lusty 
enjoyment  the  simpler  ballads  of  the  day,  to  say  nothing 
of  many  melodious  Methodist  hymns. 

My  experiences  as  an  active  member  of  Washington 
society,  therefore,  began  in  the  autumn  of  1854  and 
the  succeeding  spring,  when,  notwithstanding  an  air 
of  gravity  and  reserve  that  was  perceptible  at  that 
social  pivot,  the  White  House,  the  gaiety  of  the  capital 
was  gaining  an  impetus  in  what  later  appeared  to  me  to 
be  a  veritable  "merry  madness." 

It  is  true  that  it  did  not  even  then  require  the  insight 
of  a  keen  observer  to  detect  in  social,  as  in  political 
gatherings,  the  constantly  widening  division  between  the 
Northern  and  Southern  elements  gathered  in  the  Govern- 
ment City.  For  myself,  I  knew  little  of  politics,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  from  my  childhood  I  had 
called  myself  "a  pronounced  Jeffersonian  Democrat." 
Naturally,  I  was  an  hereditary  believer  in  States'  Rights, 
the  real  question,  which,  in  an  attempt  to  settle  it,  cul- 
minated in  our  Civil  War ;  and  I  had  been  bred  among  the 
law-makers  of  the  sturdy  young  State  of  Alabama,  many 
of  whom  had  served  at  the  State  and  National  capitals 
with  marked  distinction;  but  from  my  earliest  girlhood 
three  lessons  had  been  taught  me  religiously,  viz. :  to  be 
proud  alike  of  my  name  and  blood  and  section;  to  read 
my  Bible;  and,  last,  to  know  my  "Richmond  Enquirer." 
Often,  as  an  aid  to  the  performance  of  this  last  duty,  have 
I  read  aloud  its  full  contents,  from  the  rates  of  adver- 
tisement down,  until  my  dear  uncle  Tom  Tunstall  has 
fallen  asleep  over  my  childish  efforts.  It  is  not,  then, 
remarkable  that,  upon  my  arrival,  I  was  at  once  cog- 
nisant of  the  feeling  which  was  so  thinly  concealed 
between  the  strenuous  parties  established  in  the  capital. 


MRS.  BENJAMIN    FITZPATRICK 
of  Alabama 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     27 

During  the  first  half  of  the  Pierce  administration,  how- 
ever, though  feeling  ran  high  in  the  Senate  and  the 
House,  the  surface  of  social  life  was  smiling  and  peaceful. 
The  President  had  every  reason  to  feel  kindly  toward 
the  people  of  the  South  who  had  so  unanimously  sup- 
ported him,  and  he  was  as  indiscriminating  and  impartial 
in  his  attitude  to  the  opposing  parties  as  even  the  most 
critical  could  desire;  but,  gradually,  by  a  mutual  instinct 
of  repulsion  that  resolved  itself  into  a  general  consent,  the 
representatives  of  the  two  antagonistic  sections  seldom 
met  save  at  promiscuous  assemblages  to  which  the 
exigencies  of  public  life  compelled  them.  To  be  sure, 
courtesies  were  exchanged  between  the  wives  of  some 
of  the  Northern  and  Southern  Senators,  and  formal  calls 
were  paid  on  Cabinet  days,  as  etiquette  demanded,  upon 
the  ladies  of  the  Cabinet  circle ;  but,  by  a  tacit  understand- 
ing, even  at  the  entertainments  given  at  the  foreign 
legations,  and  at  the  houses  of  famous  Washington  citi- 
zens, this  opposition  of  parties  was  carefully  considered 
in  the  sending  out  of  invitations,  in  order  that  no  unfortu- 
nate rencontre  might  occur  between  uncongenial  guests. 

The  White  House,  as  I  have  said,  was  scarcely  a  place 
of  gaiety.  Mrs.  Pierce's  first  appearance  in  public 
occurred  at  the  Presidential  levee,  late  in  1853.  An 
invalid  for  several  years,  she  had  recently  received  a 
shock,  which  was  still  a  subject  of  pitying  conversation 
throughout  the  country.  It  had  left  a  terrible  impress 
upon  Mrs.  Pierce's  spirits.  While  travelling  from  her  home 
in  New  Hampshire  to  Washington  to  witness  her  hus- 
band's exaltation  as  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
an  accident,  occurring  at  Norwalk,  Connecticut,  suddenly 
deprived  her  of  her  little  son,  the  last  surviving  of  her 
several  children.  At  her  first  public  appearance  at  the 
White  House,  clad  in  black  velvet  and  diamonds,  her 
natural  pallor  being  thereby  greatly  accentuated,  a 
universal  sympathy  was  awakened  for  her.     To  us  who 


28  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

knew  her,  the  stricken  heart  was  none  the  less  apparent 
because  hidden  under  such  brave  and  jewelled  apparel, 
which  she  had  donned,  the  better  to  go  through  the 
ordeal  exacted  by  "the  dear  people." 

I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  General  and  Mrs. 
Pierce  during  the  preceding  year  while  on  a  visit  to  the 
New  England  States;  my  husband's  father  had  been  the 
President's  confrere  in  the  Senate  early  in  the  forties; 
and  my  brother-in-law,  Colonel  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  had 
fought  beside  the  New  Hampshire  General  in  the  Mexican 
War.  The  occupants  of  the  Executive  Mansion  there- 
fore were  no  strangers  to  us;  yet  Mrs.  Pierce's  sweet 
graciousness  and  adaptability  came  freshly  to  me  as  I  saw 
her  assume  her  place  as  the  social  head  of  the  nation. 
Her  sympathetic  nature  and  very  kind  heart,  qualities 
not  always  to  be  perceived  through  the  formalities  of 
governmental  etiquette,  were  demonstrated  to  me  on 
many  occasions.  My  own  ill-health  proved  to  be  a  bond 
between  us,  and,  while  custom  forbade  the  paying  of 
calls  by  the  wife  of  the  Chief  Magistrate  upon  the  wives  of 
Senators,  I  was  indebted  to  Mrs.  Pierce  for  many  acts 
of  friendliness,  not  the  least  of  which  were  occasional 
drives  with  her  in  the  Presidential  equipage. 

A  favourite  drive  in  those  days  was  throughout  the 
length  of  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  then  but  sparsely  and 
irregularly  built  up.  The  greatest  contrasts  in  archi- 
tecture existed,  hovels  often  all  but  touching  the  man- 
sions of  the  rich.  The  great  boulevard  was  a  perfect 
romping  ground  for  the  winds.  Chevy  Chase  and  George- 
town were  popular  objective  points,  and  the  banks  of  the 
Potomac,  in  shad-seining  season,  were  alive  with  gay 
sightseers.  The  markets  of  Washington  have  always 
excelled,  affording  every  luxury  of  earth  and  sea,  and  that 
at  a  price  which  gives  to  the  owner  of  even  a  moderate 
purse  a  leaning  toward  epicureanism.  In  the  houses 
of  the  rich  the  serving  of  dinners  became  a  fine  art. 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     29 

On  the  first  occasion  of  my  dining  at  the  President's 
table,  I  was  struck  with  the  spaciousness  of  the  White 
House,  and  the  air  of  simplicity  which  everywhere 
pervaded.  Very  elaborate  alterations  were  made  in  the 
mansion  for  Mr.  Pierce's  successor,  but  in  the  day  of 
President  and  Mrs.  Pierce  it  remained  practically  as  un- 
imposing  as  in  the  time  of  President  Monroe. 

The  most  remarkable  features  in  all  the  mansion,  to 
my  then  unaccustomed  eyes,  were  the  gold  spoons  which 
were  used  invariably  at  all  State  dinners.  They  were 
said  to  have  been  brought  from  Paris  by  President 
Monroe,  who  had  been  roundly  criticised  for  introducing 
into  the  White  House  a  table  accessory  so  undemocratic  ! 
Besides  these  extraordinary  golden  implements,  there 
were  as  remarkable  bouquets,  made  at  the  government 
greenhouses.  They  were  stiff  and  formal  things,  as  big 
round  as  a  breakfast  plate,  and  invariably  composed  of  a 
half-dozen  wired  japonicas  ornamented  with  a  pretentious 
cape  of  marvellously  wrought  lace-paper.  At  every 
plate,  at  every  State  dinner,  lay  one  of  these  memorable 
rigid  bouquets.  This  fashion,  originating  at  the  White 
House,  was  taken  up  by  all  Washington.  For  an  entire 
season  the  japonica  was  the  only  flower  seen  at  the  houses 
of  the  fashionable  or  mixing  in  the  toilettes  of  the 
belles. 

But  if,  for  that,  my  first  winter  in  Washington,  the 
White  House  itself  was  sober,  the  houses  of  the  rich 
Senators  and  citizens  of  Washington,  of  the  brilliant 
diplomatic  corps,  and  of  some  of  the  Cabinet  Ministers, 
made  ample  amends  for  it.  In  the  fifties  American 
hospitality  acquired  a  reputation,  and  that  of  the  capital 
was  synonymous  with  an  unceasing,  an  augmenting  round 
of  dinners  and  dances,  receptions  and  balls.  A  hundred 
hostesses  renowned  for  their  beauty  and  wit  and  vivacity 
vied  with  each  other  in  evolving  novel  social  relaxations. 
Notable    among   these    were    Mrs.    Slidell,    Mrs.    Jacob 


3o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Thompson,  Miss  Belle  Cass,  and  the  daughters  of  Secretary 
Guthrie;  Mrs.  Senator  Toombs  and  Mrs.  Ogle  Tayloe, 
the  Riggses,  the  Countess  de  Sartiges  and  Mrs.  Cobb, 
wife  of  that  jolly  Falstaff  of  President  Buchanan's 
Cabinet,  Howell  Cobb.  Mrs.  Cobb  was  of  the  celebrated 
Lamar  family,  so  famous  for  its  brilliant  and  brave  men, 
and  lovely  women.  Highly  cultured,  modest  as  a  wild 
wood-violet,  inclined,  moreover,  to  reserve,  she  was 
nevertheless  capable  of  engrossing  the  attention  of  the 
most  cultivated  minds  in  the  capital,  and  a  conversation 
with  her  was  ever  a  thing  to  be  remembered.  No  more 
hospitable  home  was  known  in  Washington  than  that  of 
the  Cobbs.  The  Secretary  was  a  bon  vivant,  and  his 
home  the  rendezvous  of  the  epicurean  as  well  as  the 
witty  and  the  intellectual. 

Probably  the  most  brilliant  of  all  the  embassies,  until 
the  coming  of  Lord  and  Lady  Napier,  was  that  of  France. 
The  Countess  de  Sartiges,  who  presided  over  it,  was  an 
unsurpassed  hostess,  besides  being  a  woman  of  much 
manner  and  personal  beauty ;  and,  as  did  many  others  of 
the  suite,  she  entertained  on  a  lavish  scale. 

Mrs.  Slidell,  wife  of  the  Senator  from  Louisiana,  whose 
daughter  Mathilde  is  now  the  wife  of  the  Parisian  banker, 
Baron  Erlanger,  became  famous  in  the  fifties  for  her 
matinee  dances  at  which  all  the  beauties  and  beaux  of 
Washington  thronged.  Previous  to  her  marriage  with 
Senator  Slidell  she  was  Mile,  des  Londes  of  New  Orleans. 
A  leader  in  all  things  fashionable,  she  was  also  one  of  the 
most  devout  worshippers  at  St.  Aloysius's  church.  I 
remember  with  what  astonishment  and  admiration  I 
watched  her  devotions  one  Sunday  morning  when,  as 
the  guest  of  Senator  Mallory,  himself  a  strict  Romanist, 
I  attended  that  church  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  a  mass 
sung. 

I  knew  Mrs.  Slidell  as  the  devotee  of  fashion,  the  wearer 
of  unapproachable  Parisian  gowns,  the  giver  of  unsur- 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     31 

passed  entertainments,  the  smiling,  tireless  hostess;  but 
that  Sunday  morning  as  I  saw  her  enter  a  pew  just  ahead 
of  Senator  Mallory  and  myself,  sink  upon  her  knees,  and, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  cross,  repeating  her  prayers 
with  a  concentration  that  proved  the  sincerity  of  them, 
I  felt  as  if  another  and  greater  side  of  her  nature  were 
being  revealed  to  me.  I  never  met  her  thereafter  without 
a  remembrance  of  that  morning  flitting  through  my  mind. 

During  the  early  spring  of  1854  I  heard  much  of  the 
imposing  ceremonials  attending  the  funeral  of  Baron 
Alexandre  de  Bodisco,  Minister  from  Russia  since  1838, 
the  days  of  Van  Buren.  His  young  wife,  a  native  of 
Georgetown,  was  one  of  the  first  to  draw  the  attention  of 
foreigners  to  the  beauty  of  American  women.  The 
romantic  old  diplomat  had  learned  to  admire  his 
future  wife  when,  as  a  little  girl,  upon  her  daily  return 
from  school,  he  carried  her  books  for  her.  Her  beauty 
developed  with  her  growth,  and,  before  she  was  really 
of  an  age  to  appear  in  society,  though  already  spoken  of 
as  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Georgetown,  Harriet 
Williams  became  the  Baroness  de  Bodisco,  and  was  car- 
ried abroad  for  presentation  at  the  Russian  Court. 
Her  appearance  in  that  critical  circle  created  a  furore, 
echoes  of  which  preceded  her  return  to  America.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  this  young  bride  was  the  first  woman 
to  whom  was  given  the  title,  "the  American  Rose." 

I  remember  an  amusing  incident  in  which  this  lovely 
Baroness,  unconsciously  to  herself,  played  the  part  of 
instructress  to  me.  It  was  at  one  of  my  earliest  dinners 
at  the  White  House,  ere  I  had  thoroughly  familiarised 
myself  with  the  gastronomic  novelties  devised  by  the 
Gautiers  (then  the  leading  restaurateurs  and  confectioners 
of  the  capital) ,  and  the  other  foreign  chefs  who  vied  with 
them.  Scarcely  a  dinner  of  consequence  but  saw  some 
surprise  in  the  way  of  a  heretofore  unknown  dish.  Many 
a  time  I  have  seen  some  one  distinguished  for  his  aplomb 


32  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

look  about  helplessly  as  the  feast  progressed,  and  gaze 
questioningly  at  the  preparation  before  him,  as  if  un- 
certain as  to  how  it  should  be  manipulated.  Whenever 
I  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  proper  thing  to  do  at  these  dig- 
nified dinners,  I  turned,  as  was  natural,  to  those  whose 
longer  experience  in  the  gay  world  was  calculated  to 
establish  them  as  exemplars  to  the  novice. 

On  the  evening  of  which  I  write,  the  courses  had  pro- 
ceeded without  the  appearance  of  unusual  or  alarm- 
inspiring  dishes  until  we  had  neared  the  end  of  the  menu, 
when  I  saw  a  waiter  approaching  with  a  large  salver  on 
which  were  dozens  of  mysterious  parallelograms  of  paper, 
each  of  which  was  about  five  inches  long  and  three  broad, 
and  appeared  to  be  full  of  some  novel  conserve. 
Beside  them  lay  a  silver  trowel.  The  packages  were  folded 
daintily,  the  gilt  edges  of  their  wrapping  glittering  at- 
tractively. What  they  contained  I  could  not  guess,  nor 
could  I  imagine  what  we  were  supposed  to  do  with  them. 

However,  while  still  struggling  to  read  the  mystery 
of  the  salver,  my  eye  fell  upon  Mme.  de  Bodisco,  my 
vis-a-vis.  She  was  a  mountain  of  lace  and  jewels,  of 
blonde  beauty  and  composure,  for  even  at  this  early  period 
her  proportions  were  larger  than  those  which  by  common 
consent  are  accredited  to  the  sylph.  I  could  have  no 
better  instructress  than  this  lady  of  international  renown. 
I  watched  her;  saw  her  take  up  the  little  trowel, 
deftly  remove  one  of  the  packages  from  the  salver  to  her 
plate,  and  composedly  proceed  to  empty  the  paper 
receptacle  of  its  contents — a  delicious  glace.  My  sus- 
pense was  at  an  end.  I  followed  her  example,  very  well 
satisfied  with  my  good  fortune  in  escaping  a  pitfall  which 
a  moment  ago  I  felt  sure  yawned  before  me,  for  this 
method  of  serving  creams  and  ices  was  the  latest 
of  culinary  novelties. 

I  wondered  if  there  were  others  at  the  great  board  who 
were  equally  uncertain  as  to  what  to  do  with  the  care- 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     33 

fully  concealed  dainties.  Looking  down  to  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  I  saw  our  friend  Mr.  Blank,  of  Virginia, 
hesitatingly  regarding  the  pile  of  paper  which  the  waiter 
was  holding  toward  him.  Presently,  as  if  resigned  to 
his  fate,  he  took  up  the  trowel  and  began  to  devote 
considerable  energy  to  an  attempt  to  dig  out  the  con- 
tents of  the  package  nearest  him,  when,  as  I  glanced 
toward  him,  he  looked  up,  full  of  self -consciousness,  and 
turned  his  gaze  directly  upon  me.  His  expression  told 
plainly  of  growing  consternation. 

I  shook  my  head  in  withering  pseudo-rebuke  and 
swiftly  indicated  to  him  "to  take  a  whole  one."  Fortu- 
nately, he  was  quick-witted  and  caught  my  meaning,  and, 
taking  the  hint,  took  likewise  the  cream  without  further 
mishap.  After  dinner  we  retired  to  the  green-room, 
where,  as  was  the  custom,  coffee  and  liqueurs  were  served. 
Here  Mr.  Blank  approached,  and,  shaking  my  hand  most 
gratefully,  he  whispered,  "  God  bless  my  soul,  Mrs.  Clay ! 
You're  the  sweetest  woman  in  the  world !  But  for 
your  goodness,  heaven  only  knows  what  would  have 
happened!  Perhaps,"  and  he  sipped  his  liqueur  con- 
templatively, "perhaps  I  might  have  been  struggling 
with  that,  that  problem  yet ! " 

I  met  Mme.  de  Bodisco  many  times  during  her  widow- 
hood, and  was  present  at  old  St.  John's  when  her  second 
marriage,  with  Captain  Scott  of  Her  British  Majesty's 
Life  Guards,  was  celebrated.  It  was  early  in  the  Buchanan 
administration,  and  the  bride  was  given  away  by  the 
President.  While  St.  John's,  I  may  add,  was  often 
referred  to  as  a  fashionable  centre,  yet  much  of 
genuine  piety  throve  there,  too. 

Mme.  de  Bodisco,  who,  during  her  widowhood,  had 
continued  her  belleship  and  had  received,  it  was  said, 
many  offers  of  marriage  from  distinguished  men,  capitu- 
lated at  last  to  the  young  guardsman  just  named.  Great 
therefore  was  the  interest  in  the  second  nuptials  of  so 


34  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

popular  a  beauty.  Old  St.  John's  was  crowded  with  the 
most  distinguished  personages  in  the  capital.  The  aisles 
of  the  old  edifice  are  narrow,  and  the  march  of  the  bride 
and  the  President  to  the  altar  was  memorable,  not  only 
because  of  the  distinction,  but  also  by  reason  of  the  im- 
posing proportions  of  both  principals  in  it.  In  fact,  the 
plumpness  of  the  stately  bride  and  the  President's  ample 
figure,  made  the  walk,  side  by  side,  an  almost  impossible 
feat.  The  difficulty  was  overcome,  however,  by  the  tact- 
fulness  of  the  President,  who  led  the  lady  slightly  in  ad- 
vance of  himself  until  the  chancel  was  reached.  Here 
the  slender  young  groom,  garbed  in  the  scarlet  and  gold 
uniform  of  his  rank,  stepped  forward  to  claim  her,  and, 
though  it  was  seen  that  he  stood  upon  a  hassock  in  order 
to  lessen  the  difference  in  height  between  himself  and  his 
bride,  it  was  everywhere  admitted  that  Captain  Scott  was 
a  handsome  and  gallant  groom,  and  worthy  the  prize  he 
had  won. 

This  was  Mme.  de  Bodisco's  last  appearance  in  Wash- 
ington. With  her  husband  she  went  to  India,  where, 
it  was  said,  the  climate  soon  made  havoc  of  her  health 
and  beauty;  but  her  fame  lingered  long  on  the  lips  of 
her  hosts  of  admirers  in  Washington.  Nor  did  the 
name  of  de  Bodisco  disappear  from  the  social  list,  for, 
though  his  sons  were  sent  to  Russia,  there  to  be  educated, 
Waldemar  de  Bodisco,  nephew  of  the  late  Minister,  long 
continued  to  be  the  most  popular  leader  of  the  German 
in  Washington. 

Throughout  the  fifties,  and  indeed  for  several  preceding 
decades,  the  foreign  representatives  and  their  suites 
formed  a  very  important  element  in  society  in  the  capital. 
In  some  degree  their  members,  the  majority  of  whom  were 
travelled  and  accomplished,  and  many  representative  of 
the  highest  culture  in  Europe,  were  our  critics,  if  not  our 
mentors.  The  standard  of  education  was  higher  in  Europe 
fifty  years  ago  than  in  our  own  land,  and  to  be  a  favourite 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     35 

at  the  foreign  legations  was  equivalent  to  a  certificate 
of  accomplishment  and  social  charms.  An  acquaintance 
with  the  languages  necessarily  was  not  the  least  of  these. 

The  celebrated  Octavia  Walton,  afterward  famous  as 
Mme.  Le  Vert,  won  her  first  social  distinction  in  Wash- 
ington, where,  chaperoned  by  Mrs.  C.  C.  Clay,  Sr., 
a  recognition  of  her  grace  and  beauty,  her 
intellectuality  and  charming  manner  was  instantaneous. 
At  a  time  when  a  knowledge  of  the  foreign  tongues  was 
seldom  acquired  by  American  women,  Miss  Walton, 
who  spoke  French,  Spanish  and  Italian  with  ease,  speedily 
became  the  favourite  of  the  Legations,  and  thence  began 
her  fame  which  afterward  became  international. 

During  my  early  residence  in  Washington,  Addie 
Cutts  (who  became  first  the  wife  of  Stephen  A.  Douglas 
and  some  years  after  his  death  married  General  Williams) 
was  the  admired  of  all  foreigners.  Miss  Cutts  was  the 
niece  of  Mrs.  Greenhow,  a  wealthy  and  brilliant  woman 
of  the  capital,  and,  when  she  became  Mrs.  Douglas,  held 
a  remarkable  sway  for  years.  As  a  linguist  Miss  Cutts 
was  reputed  to  be  greatly  gifted.  If  she  spoke  the  many 
languages  of  which  she  was  said  to  be  mistress  but  half 
so  eloquently  as  she  uttered  her  own  when,  in  1865,  she 
appealed  to  President  Johnson  on  behalf  of  "her  loved 
friend"  my  husband,  the  explanation  of  her  remarkable 
nightly  levees  of  the  late  fifties  is  readily  found. 

Though  never,  strictly  speaking,  a  member  of  our 
"mess,"  Mrs.  Douglas  and  I  were  always  firm  friends. 
While  she  was  still  Miss  Cutts,  and  feeling  keenly  the 
deprivations  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  beautiful  daughter 
of  a  poor  department  clerk,  *  she  once  complained  to  me 
poutingly  of  the  cost  of  gloves. 

*  Apropos  of  this  reference  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  Col.  Henry  Watterson 
said  to  me:  "Her  passport  into  Washington  society  was  her  relation- 
ship to  Mistress  Dolly  Madison,  who  was  her  grandaunt.  It  is  true, 
Mr.  James  Madison  Cutts,  Mrs.  Douglas's  father,  was  a  department 
clerk,  but  he  was  the  nephew  of  the  former  mistress  of  the  White 


36  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"Nonsense,"  I  answered.  "Were  I  Addie  Cutts,  with 
hands  that  might  have  been  chiselled  by  Phidias,  I  would 
never  disguise  them  in  gloves,  whatever  the  fashion  !" 

Miss  Cutts  entered  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  wealth 
and  position  which  her  marriage  with  Stephen  A.  Douglas 
gave  her,  with  the  regal  manner  of  a  princess.  Her 
toilettes  were  of  the  richest  and  at  all  times  were  models 
of  taste  and  picturesqueness.  The  effect  she  produced 
upon  strangers  was  invariably  one  of  instant  admiration. 
Writing  to  me  in  1863,  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Paul  Hammond 
(who,  before  her  marriage,  had  spent  a  winter  with  me 
at  Washington) ,  thus  recalled  her  meeting  with  the  noted 
beauty : 

"Yesterday,  with  its  green  leaves  and  pearl-white 
flowers,  called  to  my  memory  how  Mrs.  Douglas  looked 
when  I  first  saw  her.  She  was  receiving  at  her  own  house 
in  a  crepe  dress  looped  with  pearls,  and  her  hair  was 
ornamented  with  green  leaves  and  lilies.  She  was  a 
beautiful  picture  ! ' ' 

I  had  the  pleasure,  on  one  occasion,  of  bringing  to- 
gether Mrs.  Douglas  and  Miss  Betty  Beirne,  the  tallest 
and  the  shortest  belles  of  their  time.  They  had  long 
desired  to  meet,  and  each  viewed  the  other  with  astonish- 
ment and  pleasure.  Miss  Beirne,  who  afterward  became 
the  wife  of  Porcher  Miles  of  South  Carolina,  was  one  of 
the  tiniest  of  women,  as  Mrs.  Douglas  was  one  of  the 
queenliest,  and  both  were  toasted  continually  in  the 
capital. 

During  the  incumbency  of  Mr.  Crampton,  he  being  a 
bachelor,  few  functions  were  given  at  the  British  Embassy 
which  ladies  attended.     Not  that  the  Minister  and  his 

House.  Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  beautiful,"  Colonel  Watterson  con- 
tinued. "I  remember  stepping  into  the  Douglas  library  one  morning, 
and  coming  upon  her  unexpectedly  as  she  was  dusting  some  bit  of 
precious  bric-a-brac,  over  which  she  extended  a  personal  care.  She 
was  en  negligee,  and,  as  the  colour  mounted  her  cheek,  upon  my  unex- 
pected appearance,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so  beautiful,  so  rosy  a 
girl.      I  told  Douglas  so!"     A.  S. 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES    37 

suite  were  eremites.  On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Crampton 
was  exceedingly  fond  of  "cutting  a  figure."  His  traps 
were  especially  conspicuous  on  the  Washington  avenues. 
Always  his  own  reinsman,  the  Minister's  fast  tandem 
driving  and  the  stiffly  upright  "tiger"  behind  him,  for 
several  years  were  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city.  In  social 
life  the  British  Embassy  was  admirably  represented  by 
Mr.  Lumley,  Charge  d'Aflaires,  an  affable  young  man 
who  entered  frankly  into  the  life  of  the  city  and  won  the 
friendly  feeling  of  all  who  met  him.  He  was  one  of  the 
four  young  men  who  took  each  the  novel  part  of  the  ele- 
phant's leg  at  a  most  amusing  impromptu  affair  given 
by  Mrs.,  George  Riggs  in  honour  of  the  girl  prima  donna, 
Adelina  Patti.  It  was,  I  think,  the  evening  of  the  latter's 
debut  in  "la  Traviata."  Her  appearance  was  the  occa- 
sion of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  audiences  ever  seen  in 
Washington.  Everyone  of  note  was  present,  and  the 
glistening  of  silk  and  the  flash  of  jewels  no  doubt  con- 
tributed their  quota  of  stimulus  to  the  youthful  star. 

Within  a  day  of  the  performance,  Senator  Clay  and  I 
received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Riggs,  inviting  us  informally, 
not  to  say  secretly,  to  an  after-the-opera  supper,  to  meet 
the  new  diva  and  her  supporting  artists.  We  responded 
cordially  and  drove  to  the  Riggs  residence  shortly  after 
the  close  of  the  performance. 

There,  upon  our  arrival,  we  found  representatives  from 
all  the  foreign  legations,  Patti's  entire  troupe,  and  perhaps 
a  dozen  others,  exclusive  of  the  family  of  our  hostess. 
The  prima  donna  soon  came  in,  a  lovely  little  maiden  in 
evening  dress,  with  a  manner  as  winsome  as  was  her 
appearance.  The  entertainment  now  began  by  graceful 
compliment  from  all  present  to  the  new  opera  queen, 
after  which  Mr.  Riggs  led  her  to  the  dining-room  where 
the  sumptuous  supper  was  spread. 

The  table  was  almost  as  wide  as  that  of  the  White 
House.     Its  dazzling  silver  and  gold  and  crystal  vessels, 


38  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

and  viands  well  worthy  these  receptacles,  made  a  brilliant 
centre  around  which  the  decorated  foreigners  seemed 
appropriately  to  cluster.  The  little  cantatrice's  undisguised 
pleasure  was  good  to  see.  She  had  worked  hard  during 
the  performance  of  the  opera,  and  her  appetite  was  keen. 
She  did  ample  justice,  therefore,  to  Mrs.  Riggs's  good 
cheer,  and  goblets  were  kept  brimming  for  quite  two 
hours. 

This  important  part  of  the  programme  over,  a  young 
Englishman,  by  name  Mr.  Palmer,  who,  as  the  Chevalier 
Bertinatti  (the  Sardinian  Minister)  whispered  to  me,  had 
been  asked  "to  make  some  leetle  fun  for  leetle  Mees 
Patti,"  opened  the  evening's  merriment  by  an  amusing 
exhibition  of  legerdemain.  Mr.  Palmer,  at  that  time  a 
favourite  music-teacher,  who  spent  his  time  between 
Washington  and  Baltimore,  Philadelphia  and  New  York, 
having  in  each  city  numerous  fashionable  pupils,  after- 
ward became  known  to  the  world  as  the  great  prestidigi- 
tator, Heller. 

On  the  evening  of  the  Riggses'  supper  the  young  ma- 
gician was  in  his  best  form.  Handkerchiefs  and  trinkets 
disappeared  mysteriously,  only  to  come  to  light  again  in 
the  most  unexpected  places,  until  the  company  became 
almost  silent  with  wonder.  Mr.  Palmer's  last  trick 
required  a  pack  of  cards,  which  were  promptly  forth- 
coming. Selecting  the  queen  of  hearts,  he  said,  looking 
archly  in  the  direction  of  the  diminutive  Patti:  "This 
is  also  a  queen ;  but  she  is  a  naughty  girl  and  we  will  not 
have  her!"  saying  which,  with  a  whiff  and  a  toss,  he 
threw  the  card  into  the  air,  where  it  vanished  ! 

Everyone  was  mystified;  but  Baron  de  Staeckl,  the 
Russian  Minister,  incontinently  broke  the  spell  Mr. 
Palmer  was  weaving  around  us  by  picking  up  a  card  and 
pronouncing  the  same  formula.  Then,  as  all  waited  to 
see  what  he  was  about  to  do,  in  a  most  serio-comic 
manner  he   deftly  and   deliberately   crammed  it  down 


ADELINA  PATTI 
Aged  Sixteen 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES     39 

Mr.  Palmer's  collar !  Amid  peals  of  laughter  from  all 
present,  the  young  man  gave  place  to  other  and  more 
general  entertainment,  in  which  the  most  dignified 
ambassadors  indulged  with  the  hilarity  of  schoolboys. 

From  the  foregoing  incident  it  will  be  seen  that  Baron 
de  Staeckl  was  the  buffo  of  the  evening.  He  was  a  large 
man  of  inspiring,  not  to  say  portly  figure,  and  his  lapels 
glittered  with  the  insignia  of  honours  that  had  been  con- 
ferred upon  him.  Like  his  predecessor,  the  late  Baron 
de  Bodisco,  he  had  allied  himself  with  our  country  by 
marrying  an  American  girl,  a  native  of  New  Haven, 
whose  family  name  I  have  now  forgotten.  She  was  a 
lovely  and  amiable  hostess,  whose  unassuming  manner 
never  lost  a  certain  pleasing  modesty,  notwithstanding 
the  compliments  she,  too,  invariably  evoked.  Her  table 
was  remarkable  for  its  napery — Russian  linen  for  the 
larger  part,  with  embroidered  monograms  of  unusual 
size  and  perfection  of  workmanship,  which  were  said  to 
be  the  handiwork  of  Slav  needlewomen.  Although  I 
had  enjoyed  their  hospitality  and  had  met  the  de  Staeckles 
frequently  elsewhere,  until  this  evening  at  the  Riggses' 
home  I  had  never  suspected  the  genial  Baron's  full 
capacity  for  the  enjoyment  of  pure  nonsense. 

There  were  many  amateur  musicians  among  the  guests, 
first  among  them  being  the  Sicilian  Minister,  Massoni. 
He  was  a  finished  vocalist,  with  a  full  operatic  repertory 
at  his  easy  command.  His  son  Lorenzo  was  as  fine  a 
pianist,  and  accompanied  his  father  with  a  sympathy 
that  was  most  rare.  That  evening  the  Massonis  responded 
again  and  again  to  the  eager  urgings  of  the  other  guests, 
but  at  last  the  Minister,  doubtless  desiring  to  "cut  it 
short,"  broke  into  the  "Anvil  Chorus."  Instantly  he 
was  joined  by  the  entire  company. 

At  the  opening  strain,  the  jolly  Baron  de  Staeckl  dis- 
appeared for  a  second,  but  ere  we  had  finished,  his 
glittering  form  was  seen  to  re-enter  the  door,  with  a 


4o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

stride  like  Vulcan's  and  an  air  as  mighty.  In  one  hand  he 
held  a  pair  of  Mrs.  Riggs's  glowing  brass  tongs,  in  the 
other  a  poker,  with  which,  in  faultless  rhythm,  he  was 
beating  time  to  his  own  deep-bellowing  basso.  He 
stalked  to  the  centre  of  the  room  with  all  the  pomposity 
of  a  genuine  king  of  opera  bouffe,  a  sly  twinkle  in  his 
eye  being  the  only  hint  to  the  beholders  that  he  was 
conscious  of  his  own  ludicrous  appearance. 

Meantime,  Mile.  Patti  had  mounted  a  chair,  where 
her  liquid  notes  in  alt  joined  the  deep  ones  of  the  baron. 
As  he  stopped  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  however,  the 
little  diva's  amusement  reached  a  climax.  She  clapped 
her  hands  and  fairly  shouted  with  glee.  Her  mirth  was 
infectious  and  quite  upset  the  solemnity  of  the  basso. 
Breaking  into  a  sonorous  roar  of  laughter,  he  made  as 
hasty  an  exit  as  his  cumbrous  form  wTould  allow.  I 
think  a  walrus  would  have  succeeded  as  gracefully. 

We  were  about  to  withdraw  from  this  gay  scene  when 
the  Chevalier  Bertinatti,  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm, 
begged  us  to  stay.  "You  must!"  he  cried.  "Ze 
elephant  is  coming  !  I  assure  you  zere  ees  not  hees  equal 
for  ze  fun!"  A  moment  more  and  we  fully  agreed 
with  him.  Even  as  he  spoke,  the  doors  opened  and 
Mr.  Palmer  bounded  in,  a  gorgeously  got-up  ring-master. 
I  saw  my  own  crimson  opera  cloak  about  his  shoulders 
and  a  turban  formed  of  many  coloured  rebozos  of  other 
guests  twisted  together  in  truly  artistic  manner. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  he  began  grandiloquently, 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  present  to  your  astonished  eyes 
the  grand  elephant,  Hannibal,  costing  to  import  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  and  weighing  six  thousand  pounds ! 
An  elephant,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  whose  average  cost 
is  three  and  one-half  dollars  a  pound !  He  is  a  mar- 
vellous animal,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  warranted  to  be  as 
intrepid  as  his  namesake  !  He  has  been  called  a  vicious 
creature,  but  in  the  present  company  I  intend  to  prove 


WASHINGTON  PERSONAGES  IN  THE  FIFTIES    41 

him  as  docile  as  —  the  ladies  themselves !  Advance, 
Hannibal!" 

He  threw  himself  prone  upon  the  floor  as  the  wide 
doors  opened  and  "Hannibal  "  lumbered  in,  deliberately 
wagging  his  trunk  from  side  to  side,  in  a  manner  that  was 
startlingly  lifelike. 

Arrived  at  the  prostrate  ring-master,  he  put  out  one 
shapeless  leg  (at  the  bottom  of  which  a  handsomely  shod 
man's  foot  appeared)  and  touched  the  prostrate  one 
lightly,  as  if  fearful  of  hurting  him;  he  advanced  and 
retreated  several  times,  wagging  his  trunk  the  while; 
until,  at  last,  at  the  urgings  of  the  recumbent  hero,  the 
animal  stepped  cleanly  over  him.  Now,  with  a  motion  of 
triumph,  Mr.  Palmer  sprang  up  and,  crossing  his  arms 
proudly  over  his  bosom,  cried,  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen ! 
I  live  ! "  and  awaited  the  applause  which  rang  out  merrily. 
Then,  leaping  lightly  upon  his  docile  pet's  back,  the 
latter  galloped  madly  around  the  room  and  made  for  the 
door  amid  screams  and  shouts  of  laughter. 

In  the  mad  exit,  however,  the  mystery  of  the  elephant 
was  revealed;  for  his  hide,  the  rubber  cover  of  Mrs. 
Riggs's  grand  piano,  slipped  from  the  shoulders  of  the 
hilarious  young  man  who  supported  it,  and  "Hannibal" 
disappeared  in  a  confusion  of  brilliant  opera  cloaks, 
black  coats,  fleeing  patent-leathers,  and  trailing  piano 
cover !    : 

This  climax  was  a  fitting  close  to  our  evening's  fun- 
making.  As  our  host  accompanied  us  to  the  door,  he 
said  slyly  to  my  husband,  "Not  a  word  of  this,  Clay! 
To-night  must  be  as  secret  as  a  Democratic  caucus,  or 
we  shall  all  be  tabooed." 


CHAPTER   III 

A  Historic  Congressional  "Mess" 

Our  "mess"  at  Brown's  Hotel  shortly  became  so  well- 
known,  because  of  the  interest  attaching  to  so  many  of  its 
members,  that  the  enterprising  proprietress  of  (what 
afterward  became  known  as)  the  Ebbitt  House,  Mrs. 
Smith,  came  in  person,  with  tempting  terms  to  lure 
us  to  her  newer  establishment. 

Heretofore  our  quarters  in  the  historic  old  hostelry 
had  been  altogether  satisfactory.  It  was  the  rendezvous 
of  Southern  Congressmen,  and  therefore  was  "very 
agreeable  and  advantageous,"  as  my  husband  wrote  of 
it.  For  thirty-five  years  Brown's  Hotel  had  been 
the  gathering-place  for  distinguished  people.  So  long 
ago  as  1820,  Thomas  Hart  Benton  met  there  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  rich  fur-trader,  John  Jacob  Astor,  who 
had  been  sent  to  the  capital  to  induce  Congressional 
indorsement  in  perfecting  a  great  scheme  that  should 
secure  to  us  the  trade  of  Asia  as  well  as  the  occupation 
of  the  Columbia  River.  Within  its  lobbies,  many  a  por- 
tentous conference  had  taken  place.  Indeed,  the  founda- 
tions of  its  good  reputation  were  laid  while  it  was  yet  the 
Indian  Queen's  Tavern,  renowned  for  its  juleps  and  bitters. 
It  was  an  unimposing  structure  even  for  Pennsylvania 
Avenue,  then  but  a  ragged  thoroughfare,  and,  as  I  have 
said,  notable  for  the  great  gaps  between  houses ;  but  the 
cuisine  of  Brown's  Hotel,  as,  until  a  few  years  ago, 
this  famous  house  continued  to  be  known,  was  ex- 
cellent. 

In  my  days  there,  the  presence  of  good  Mrs.  Brown, 

42 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         43 

the  hostess,  and  her  sweet  daughter  Rose  (who  married 
Mr.  Wallach,  one  of  Washington's  rich  citizens,  and 
afterward  entertained  in  the  mansion  that  became 
famous  as  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Stephen  A.  Douglas) 
added  much  to  the  attractions  of  the  old  house.  Never- 
theless, those  of  the  new  also  tempted  us.  Thither  we 
went  in  a  body,  and  there  we  spent  one  or  two  gay  winters ; 
but,  the  Ebbitt  becoming  more  and  more  heterogeneous, 
and  therefore  less  congenial  to  our  strictly  legislative 
circles,  we  retraced  our  ways,  our  forces  still  intact,  to 
good  old  Brown's. 

In  the  interim,  our  continually  enlarging  numbers 
found  the  new  quarters  convenient  and  in  many  respects 
even  desirable.  "Our  'mess,'  so  far  from  being  willing 
to  separate,"  I  wrote  to  my  husband's  father,  late  in  '57, 
"has  insisted  upon  becoming  enlarged.  We  are  located 
in  a  delightful  part  of  the  city,  on  F  Street,  near  the 
Treasury  Buildings,  the  Court  end  as  well  as  the  conven- 
ient end;  for  all  the  Departments  as  well  as  the  White 
House  are  in  a  stone's  throw.  Old  Guthrie's  is  opposite, 
and  we  have,  within  two  blocks,  some  true-line  Senators, 
among  them  Bell,  Slidell,  Weller,  Brodhead,  Thomson,  of 
New  Jersey,  who  are  married  and  housekeeping,  to  say 
naught  of  Butler,  Benjamin,  Mason  and  Goode  in  a 
'mess'  near  us.  Our  'mess'  is  a  very  pleasant  one. 
Orr,  Shorter,  Dowdell,  Sandidge  and  Taylor,  of  Louisiana, 
with  the  young  Senator  Pugh  and  his  bride,  Governor 
Fitzpatrick  and  wife,  and  ourselves  compose  the  party. 
Taylor  is  a  true  Democrat,  and  Pugh  is  as  strongly  Anti- 
Free-soil  as  we.  We  keep  Free-soilers,  Black  Republi- 
cans and  Bloomers  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  They 
are  afraid  even  to  inquire  for  board  at  this  house." 

To  the  choice  list  then  recorded  were  added  shortly 
Congressmen  L.  Q.  C.  and  Mrs.  Lamar,  David  Clopton, 
Jabez  L.  M.  Curry  and  Mrs.  Curry,  and  General  and  Mrs. 
Chestnut.     Our    circle    included    representatives    from 


44  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

several  States.  Messrs.  Fitzpatrick,  Shorter,  Dowdell, 
David  Clopton  and  Jabez  L.  M.  Curry  were  fellow- 
Alabamians,  and  had  been  the  long-time  friends  of  my 
husband  and  his  father,  ex-Governor  Clay,  and  of  my 
uncle,  Governor  Collier;  Congressmen  Lamar  and  Sand- 
idge  were  from  Mississippi  and  Louisiana,  respectively; 
Congressmen  Orr  and  Chestnut  represented  South  Caro- 
lina, and  Senator  Pugh  was  from  Ohio.  It  was  a  dis- 
tinguished company.  Scarcely  a  male  member  of  it  but 
had  won  or  was  destined  to  win  a  conspicuous  position 
in  the  Nation's  affairs;  scarcely  a  woman  in  the  circle 
who  was  not  acknowledged  to  be  a  wit  or  beauty. 

When  Mrs.  Pugh  joined  us,  her  precedence  over  the 
belles  of  the  capital  was  already  established,  for,  as 
Therese  Chalfant,  her  reign  had  begun  a  year  or  two 
previous  to  her  marriage  to  the  brilliant  young  Senator 
from  Ohio;  Miss  Cutts,  afterward  Mrs.  Douglas,  and 
Mrs.  Pendleton  and  the  beautiful  brum,  Mrs.  Roger  A. 
Pryor,  being  estimated  as  next  in  order  of  beauty.  Like 
Mrs.  Chestnut,  also  a  renowned  belle,  Mrs.  Pugh  was 
something  more  than  a  woman  of  great  personal  loveli- 
ness. She  was  intellectual,  and  remarked  as  such  even 
in  Washington,  where  wits  gathered.  Both  of  these 
prized  associates  remained  unspoiled  by  the  adulation 
which  is  the  common  tribute  to  such  unusual  feminine 
comeliness. 

I  was  not  present  when  the  Austrian  Minister,  the 
Chevalier  Hulseman,  paid  his  great  compliment  (now  a 
classic  in  the  capital)  to  Miss  Chalfant ;  but  it  was  soon 
thereafter  repeated  to  me.  It  was  at  a  ball  at  which 
pretty  women  thronged.  As  the  Minister's  gaze  rested 
upon  Miss  Chalfant,  his  eyes  expanded  with  admiration. 
Approaching,  he  knelt  suddenly  before  her,  exclaiming, 
"  Madame  !  I  have  from  my  Empress  a  piece  of  precious 
lace  "  (and  he  fumbled,  but,  alas  !  vainly,  in  his  pockets 
as  he  spoke)    "which  her  Majesty  has  commanded  me 


MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 

cf  Virginia 


A    HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS       45 

to  present  to  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Washington. 
You — you  are  more,  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world  ! 
I  have  not  with  me  the  lace,  but  I  will  send  it  if  you  will 
permit  me!"  And  he  kept  his  word.  We  were  glad 
to  welcome  to  our  "mess"  so  lovely  and  famous  a  bride. 
Mrs.  Pugh's  beauty  was  of  so  exquisite  a  type,  the  bodily 
so  permeated  by  the  spiritual,  that  she  shone  preeminent 
wherever  she  appeared,  and  this  wholly  independent  of 
showy  attire.  Though  always  presenting  an  appearance 
of  elegance,  Mrs.  Pugh's  gowns  were  invariably  of  the 
simplest.  Our  "mess"  soon  became  aware  that  our 
beautiful  favourite  was  primarily  a  lovely  woman,  and 
no  mere  gay  butterfly.  Her  nature  was  grave  rather 
than  vivacious,  the  maternal  in  her  being  exceedingly 
strong. 

I  recall  the  reply  she  gave  me  on  the  afternoon  of  a 
certain  Cabinet  day.  It  was  the  custom  on  this  weekly 
recurring  occasion  for  several  of  the  ladies  of  our  "mess" 
to  make  their  calls  together,  thus  obviating  the  need  for 
more  than  one  carriage.  As  my  parlours  were  the  only 
ones  that  boasted  a  pier-glass,  and,  besides,  had  the 
advantage  of  being  on  the  drawing-room  floor  of  the 
hotel,  it  became  a  custom  for  the  women  composing  our 
circle  to  come  to  my  rooms  before  going  out,  in  order  to 
see  how  their  dresses  hung.  Those  were  the  days  of 
hoop-skirts,  and  the  set  of  the  outer  skirt  must  needs  be 
adjusted  before  beginning  a  round  of  calls.  As  we 
gathered  there,  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  one  of  us 
to  remark:  "Here  comes  Pugh,  simply  dressed,  but 
superb,  as  usual.  She  would  eclipse  us  all  were  she  in 
calico  !"  On  the  occasion  alluded  to,  I  commented  to 
Mrs.  Pugh  upon  the  beauty  and  style  of  her  bonnet. 

"My  own  make,"  she  answered  sweetly.  "I  can't 
afford  French  bonnets  for  every-day  use  when  I  have 
'tockies  and  shoes  to  buy  for  my  little  fellows  !  " 

My  friendship  for  Mrs.  Pugh  is  a  dear  memory  of  that 


46  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

life  of  perpetual  gaiety  ere  the  face  of  Washington  society 
was  marred  by  war  and  scarred  by  the  moral  pestilences 
that  followed  in  its  train;  nor  can  I  resist  the  desire  to 
quote  her  own  remembrance  of  our  association  as  she 
wrote  it  in  a  letter  to  Senator  Clay  late  in  '64,  when  the 
glories  of  those  earlier  days  had  passed  away,  and  the 
faces  of  erstwhile  friends  from  the  North  were  hidden 
by  the  smoke  of  cannon  and  a  barrier  of  the  slain. 

"Your  dear  wife,"  she  wrote,  "was  the  first  and  best 
friend  of  my  early  married  life ;  and,  when  I  was  ushered 
into  a  strange  and  trying  world,  she  at  once  took  me  into 
her  heart  and  counsel  and  made  me  a  better  woman  and 
wife  than  I  would  have  been  alone.  No  one  in  this 
world  ever  treated  me  with  the  same  love  outside  of  my 
own  family.  When  I  cease  to  remember  either  of  you 
accordingly,  it  will  be  when  I  forget  all  things  !" 

Strangely  enough,  there  comes  before  my  mind  a  picture 
of  Mrs.  Pugh  in  affliction  that  overshadows  all  the  mem- 
ories of  the  homage  I  have  seen  paid  to  her.  It  was  late 
in  the  spring  of  1859;  Congress  had  adjourned  and  many 
of  our  "mess"  had  gone  their  several  ways,  to  mountain 
or  seashore,  bent  on  rest  or  recreation,  when  the  little 
daughter  of  Senator  and  Mrs.  Pugh  was  suddenly  taken 
ill.  For  weeks  the  distracted  mother  hovered  over  the 
sick-bed  of  the  child,  until  her  haggard  appearance  was 
pitiful  to  see.  My  husband  and  I  could  not  bear  to 
leave  her,  and  often  I  shared  her  vigils,  watching  hours 
beside  the  dying  little  Alice. 

On  an  occasion  like  this  (it  was  evening),  my  cousin 
Miss  Hilliard,  her  cheeks  glowing  and  eyes  shining  with 
all  the  mysterious  glow  of  expectant  youth,  came  into 
the  sick-room  for  a  few  moments  on  her  way  to  some 
social  gathering.  She  was  dressed  in  a  pale  green,  filmy 
gown,  which  lent  to  her  appearance  a  flower-like  sem- 
blance that  was  very  fresh  and  lovely.  As  Miss  Hilliard 
entered,    Mrs.    Pugh   lifted   her  burning   eyes   from  the 


MRS.  GEORGE  E.  PUGH    (THERESE  CHALFANT) 
of  Ohio 

•'The  most  beautiful  woman  in  Washington'' 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS        47 

couch  where  the  rapidly  declining  little  one  lay,  and 
gazed  at  her  visitor  like  one  in  a  dream.  We  were 
all  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  the  worn  mother 
spoke. 

"So  radiant!  So  beautiful!"  she  said  in  a  voice  of 
indescribable  pathos,  "And  to  think  you,  too,  may  come 
to  this  !  "  ... 

I  have  spoken  of  Mrs.  Pry  or,  the  beautiful  wife  of  the 
young  diplomat,  who  had  won  general  public  approbation 
for  his  success  in  conducting  a  mission  to  Greece.  Not 
of  our  especial  mess,  Mrs.  Pryor  frequently  mingled  with 
us,  being  the  friend  of  Mrs.  Douglas  and  Mrs.  Pugh. 
They  were,  in  truth,  a  very  harmonious  trio,  Mrs. 
Pugh  being  a  perfect  brunette,  Mrs.  Douglas  a  blonde, 
and  Mrs.  Pryor  a  lighter  brunette  with  soft-brown  hair 
and  eyes.  She  wore  a  distinctive  coiffure,  and  carried 
her  head  charmingly.  Even  at  that  time  Mrs.  Pryor  was 
notable  for  the  intellectuality  which  has  since  uttered 
itself  in  several  charming  books. 

Though  not  members  of  our  resident  circle,  my 
memories  of  dear  old  Brown's  would  scarcely  be  complete 
without  a  mention  of  little  Henry  Watterson,  with  whose 
parents  our  "mess"  continually  exchanged  visits  for 
years.  Henry,  their  only  child,  was  then  an  invalid, 
debarred  from  the  usual  recreations  of  other  boys,  by 
weak  eyes  that  made  the  light  unbearable  and  reading 
all  but  impossible;  yet  at  fifteen  the  boy  was  a  born 
politician  and  eager  for  every  item  of  news  from  the 
Senate  or  House. 

"What  bills  were  introduced  to-day?  Who  spoke? 
Please  tell  me  what  took  place  to-day?"  were  among  the 
questions  (in  substance)  with  which  the  lad  was  wont  to 
greet  the  ladies  of  our  "mess,"  when  he  knew  them  to  be 
returning  from  a  few  hours  spent  in  the  Senate  gallery; 
and,  though  none  foresaw  the  later  distinction  which 
awaited  the  invalid  boy,  no  one  of  us  was  ever  so  hurried 


48     "  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

and  impatient  that  she  could  not  and  did  not  take  time 
to  answer  his  earnest  inquiries. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  no  member  of  our  pleasant  circle 
was  more  generally  valued  than  that  most  lovable  of 
men,  Lucius  Q.  C.  Lamar,  "Moody  Lamar,"  as  he  was 
sometimes  called ;  for  he  was  then,  as  he  always  continued 
to  be,  full  of  dreams  and  ideals  and  big,  warm  impulses, 
with  a  capacity  for  the  most  enduring  and  strongest  of 
friendships,  and  a  tenderness  rarely  displayed  by  men 
so  strong  as  was  he.*  Mr.  Lamar  was  full  of  quaint  and 
caressing  ways  even  with  his  fellow-men,  which  frank 
utterance  of  his  own  feelings  was  irresistibly  engaging. 
I  have  seen  him  walk  softly  up  behind  Mr.  Clay,  when 
the  latter  was  deep  in  thought,  touch  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  and,  as  my  husband  turned  quickly  to  see  what 
was  wanted,  "Lushe"  or  "big  Lushe,"  as  all  called  him, 
would  kiss  him  suddenly  and  lightly  on  the  forehead. 

Yes !  Mr.  Lamar  and  his  sparkling,  bright-souled 
wife,  Jennie  Longstreet,  were  beloved  members  of  that 
memorable  "mess"  in  ante-bellum  Washington. 

Next  to  Congressman  Lamar,  I  suppose  it  may  safely 
be  said  no  man  was  more  affectionately  held  than  another 
of  our  mess-mates,  Congressman  Dowdell,  "old  Dowdell," 
"dear  old  Dowdell,"  and  sometimes  "poor,  dear  old 
Dowdell"  being  among  the  forms  by  which  he  was  con- 
tinually designated.  Mr.  Dowdell  had  a  large  and  loose 
frame,    and    walked    about    with    a    countryman's  easy 

*  Writing  to  Mrs.  Clay  from  the  Department  of  the  Interior,  late  in 
1885,  E.  V.  D.  Miller  said  of  Mr.  Lamar,  then  Secretary  of  the  Interior: 
"Those  nearest  in  his  labours  only  understand  and  have  compassion 
for  him,  to  try  to  save  him  all  we  can.  He  would  take  us  all  in  his 
arms,  and  confer  the  greatest  benefits  on  us  if  he  could;  and  a  more 
tender,  appreciative,  industrious,  kind-hearted  man  I  have  never  been 
associated  with,  to  say  nothing  of  his  giant  intellect  and  cultivated 
brain  and  taste.  I  never  knew  him  until  I  came  to  this  office  with  him 
and  saw  him  in  all  these  entangling  relations.  I  used  to  get  angry 
and  avoid  him  because  I  thought  he  neglected  my  requests  and  was  so 
indifferent  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  lack  of  respect;  but  a  closer 
knowledge  of  the  demands  upon  him  have  disarmed  me  entirely,  and 
I  fight  him  no  longer. "  A.  S. 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         49 

indifference  to  appearances.  A  born  wag,  he  some- 
times took  a  quiet  delight  in  accentuating  this  seeming 
guilelessness. 

One  evening  he  came  strolling  in  to  dinner,  prepared 
for  a  comfortable  chat  over  the  table,  though  all  the  rest 
of  our  little  coterie  were  even  then  dressing  for  attend- 
ance at  a  grand  concert.  It  was  an  event  of  great  impor- 
tance, for  Gottschalk,  the  young  Creole  musician,  of  whom 
all  the  country  was  talking,  was  to  be  heard  in  his  own 
compositions. 

"What!"  I  exclaimed  as  I  saw  Mr.  Dowdell's  every- 
day attire,  "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you're  not  going 
to  the  concert !  I  can't  allow  it,  brother  Dowdell !  Go 
right  out  and  get  your  ticket  and  attend  that  concert  with 
all  the  rest  of  the  world,  or  I'll  tell  your  constituents  what 
sort  of  a  country  representative  they've  sent  to  the 
capital !" 

My  laughing  threat  had  its  effect,  and  he  hurried  off 
in  quest  of  the  ticket,  which,  after  some  difficulty,  was 
procured. 

The  concert  was  a  memorable  one.  During  the  eve- 
ning I  saw  Mr.  Dowdell  across  the  hall,  scanning  the  per- 
formers with  an  enigmatical  expression.  At  that  time 
Gottschalk's  popularity  was  at  its  height.  Every  con- 
cert programme  contained,  and  every  ambitious  amateur 
included:  in  her  repertory,  the  young  composer's  "  Last 
Hope."  At  his  appearance,  therefore,  slender,  agile  and 
Gallic  to  a  degree,  enthusiasm  ran  so  high  that  we  forgot 
to  hunt  up  our  friend  in  the  short  interval  between  each 
brilliant    number. 

When  Mr.  Dowdell  appeared  at  the  breakfast  table  the 
following  morning,  I  asked  him  how  he  had  enjoyed  the 
evening.  The  Congressman's  response  came  less  enthusi- 
astically than  I  had  hoped. 

"Well,"  he  began,  drawing  his  words  out  slowly  and  a 
bit  quizzically,  "I  went  out  and  got  my  ticket;    did  the 


5o  A  BELLE  OP  THE  FIFTIES 

right  thing  and  got  a  seat  as  near  Harriet  Lane's  box  as 
I  could;  even  invested  in  new  white  gloves,  so  I  felt  all 
right ;  but  I  can't  say  the  music  struck  me  exactly  !  Mr. 
Gottschalk  played  mighty  pretty;  hopped  up  on  the 
black  keys  and  then  down  on  the  white  ones"  (and  the 
Congressman  illustrated  by  spanning  the  table  rapidly  in 
a  most  ludicrous  manner).  "He  played  slow  and  then 
fast,  and  never  seemed  to  get  his  hands  tangled  up  once. 
But  for  all  that  I  can't  say  I  was  struck  by  his  music  ! 
He  played  mighty  pretty,  but  he  didn't  play  nary  tchune!" 

Two  interesting  members  of  our  "mess"  were  General 
and  Mrs.  Chestnut.  The  General,  a  member  from  South 
Carolina,  who  became  afterward  one  of  the  staff  of  Jeffer- 
son Davis,  was  among  the  princes  in  wealth  in  the  South 
in  the  fifties.  Approximately  one  thousand  slaves  owned 
by  him  were  manumitted  by  Mr.  Lincoln's  proclamation 
in  1863,  when,  childless,  property-less,  our  well-loved 
Mrs.  Chestnut  suffered  a  terrible  eclipse  after  her  brilliant 
youth  and  middle  age.  She  was  the  only  daughter  of 
Governor  Miller,  of  South  Carolina,  and  having  been 
educated  abroad,  was  an  accomplished  linguist  and 
ranked  high  among  the  cultured  women  of  the  capital. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Chestnut  was  continually  the  recipient 
of  toilette  elegancies,  for  which  the  bazaars  of  Paris  were 
ransacked,  and  in  this  way  the  curiosity  of  the  emulative 
stay-at-home  fashionables  was  constantly  piqued.  Her 
part  in  that  brilliant  world  was  not  a  small  one,  for,  in 
addition  to  her  superior  personal  charms,  Mrs.  Chestnut 
chaperoned  the  lovely  Preston  girls  of  South  Carolina, 
belles,  all,  and  the  fashionable  Miss  Stevens,  of  Stevens 
Castle,  who  married  Muscoe  Garnett  of  Virginia.  Indeed, 
the  zest  for  social  pleasures  among  our  circle  was  often 
increased  by  the  coming  of  guests  from  other  cities. 
Among  others  whom  I  particularly  recall  was  my  cousin 
Miss  Collier,  daughter  of  Governor  Collier  of  Alabama, 
and  who  married  the  nephew  of  William  Rufus  King,  vice- 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         51 

President  of  the  United  States  under  Mr.  Pierce ;  and  our 
cousins  Loula  Comer,  Hattie  Withers,  and  Miss  Hilliard. 
The  latter's  wedding  with  Mr.  Hamilton  Glentworth  of 
New  York  was  one  of  the  social  events  of  the  winter 
of  1859. 

Nor  should  I  forget  to  mention  the  presence,  at  the 
Ebbitt  House  and  at  Brown's  Hotel,  of  another  much 
admired  South  Carolinian,  Mrs.  General  McQueen,  who 
was  a  Miss  Pickens,  of  the  famous  family  of  that  name. 
My  remembrance  of  Mrs.  McQueen  is  always  associated 
with  that  of  the  sudden  death  of  Preston  Brooks,  our 
neighbour  at  Brown's  Hotel.  At  the  time  of  this  fatality, 
Dr.  May,  the  eminent  surgeon,  was  in  the  building  in 
attendance  upon  Mrs.  McQueen's  little  boy,  who  was 
suffering  from  some  throat  trouble. 

Mr.  Brooks  had  been  indisposed  for  several  days,  and, 
being  absent  from  his  seat  in  the  House,  it  was  the  cus- 
tom for  one  or  the  other  of  his  confreres  to  drop  into  his 
room  each  afternoon,  to  give  him  news  of  the  proceedings. 
On  that  fatal  day,  Colonel  Orr  ("Larry,"  as  his  friends 
affectionately  designated  him)  had  called  upon  the 
invalid  and  was  in  the  midst  of  narrating  the  day's  doings, 
when  Mr.  Brooks  clutched  suddenly  at  his  throat  and 
cried  out  huskily,  "Air  !  Orr,  air  !  " 

Mr.  Orr  hastily  threw  open  the  window  and  began  to  fan 
the  sufferer,  but  became  bewildered  at  the  alarming  con- 
tinuation of  his  struggles.  Had  the  Congressman  but 
known  it,  even  as  he  tried  to  relieve  his  friend,  Dr.  May 
passed  the  door  of  Mr.  Brooks's  room,  on  his  way  out  of 
the  house,  his  surgical  case  in  hand ;  but  the  suddenness 
of  the  attack,  and  a  total  absence  of  suspicion  as  to  its 
gravity,  coupled  with  the  swiftness  with  which  it  acted, 
confused  the  watcher,  and,  ere  assistance  could  be 
obtained,  the  handsome  young  Southern  member  had 
passed  away ! 

Congressman  Orr,  as  has  been  said,  was  one  of  our 


52  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

original  "mess"  in  the  capital.  From  the  first  he  was 
a  conspicuous  figure,  nature  having  made  him  so.  He 
was  of  gigantic  stature,  weighing  then  somewhat  over 
two  hundred  pounds.  His  voice  was  of  bugle-like  clear- 
ness, and  when,  in  1857,  he  became  speaker  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  it  was  a  source  of  remark  how  won- 
derfully his  words  penetrated  to  the  farthermost  corner 
of  the  hall.  He  was  extremely  tender-hearted  and 
devoted  to  his  family,  around  the  members  of  which  his 
affections  were  closely  bound. 

Just  previous  to  our  arrival  in  the  capital,  Mr.  Orr  had 
lost  a  little  daughter,  and  often,  ere  he  brought  his  family 
to  the  Federal  City,  in  a  quiet  hour  he  would  come  to  our 
parlours  and  ask  me  to  sing  to  him.  He  dearly  loved 
simple  ballads,  his  favourite  song  being  "Lilly  Dale,"  the 
singing  of  which  invariably  stirred  him  greatly.  Often 
I  have  turned  from  the  piano  to  find  his  eyes  gushing  with 
tears  at  the  memories  that  pathetic  old-fashioned  ditty 
had  awakened.  Mr.  Orr  was  a  famous  flatterer,  too, 
who  ranked  my  simple  singing  as  greater  than  that  of 
the  piquant  Patti ;  and  I  question  the  success  of  any  one 
who  would  have  debated  with  him  the  respective  merits 
of  that  great  artiste  and  my  modest  self. 

When  Mr.  Orr  became  Speaker  of  the  House,  Mrs. 
Orr  and  his  children  having  joined  him,  the  family 
resided  in  the  famous  Stockton  Mansion  for  a 
season  or  two.  Here  brilliant  receptions  were  held,  and 
Mrs.  Orr,  a  distingu'ee  woman,  made  her  entree  into 
Washington  society,  often  being  assisted  in  receiving  by 
the  members  of  the  mess  of  which,  for  so  long,  Mr.  Orr 
had  formed  a  part.  Mrs.  Orr  was  tall  and  lithe  in  figure, 
of  a  Spanish  type  of  face.  She  soon  became  a 
great  favourite  in  the  capital,  where  one  daughter,  now 
a  widow,  Mrs.  Earle,  still  lives. 

It  was  at  the  Stockton  Mansion  that  Daniel  E.  and 
Mrs.  Sickles  lived  when  the  tragedy  of  which  they  formed 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         53 

two  of  the  principals  took  place.  Here,  too,  was  run 
the  American  career  of  another  much-talked-of  lady, 
which,  for  meteoric  brilliancy  and  brevity,  perhaps  out- 
shines any  other  episode  in  the  chronicles  of  social  life  in 
Washington. 

The  lady's  husband  was  a  statesman  of  prominence, 
celebrated  for  his  scholarly  tastes  and  the  fineness  of  his 
mental  qualities.  The  arrival  of  the  lady,  after  a  marked 
absence  abroad,  during  which  some  curious  gossip  had 
reached  American  ears,  was  attended  by  great  eclat; 
and  not  a  little  conjecture  was  current  as  to  how  she 
would  be  received.  For  her  home-coming,  however, 
the  Stockton  Mansion  was  fitted  up  in  hitherto  un- 
dreamed-of magnificence,  works  of  art  and  of  vertu, 
which  were  the  envy  of  local  connoisseurs,  being  imported 
to  grace  it,  regardless  of  cost.     So  far,  so  good ! 

The  report  of  these  domiciliary  wonders  left  no  doubt 
but  that  entertaining  on  a  large  scale  was  being  projected. 
The  world  was  slow  in  declaring  its  intentions  in  its  own 
behalf;  for,  notwithstanding  her  rumoured  delinquencies, 
the  lady's  husband  was  high  in  the  councils  of  the  nation, 
and  as  such  was  a  figure  of  dignity.  Shortly  after  her 
arrival  our  "  mess  "  held  a  conclave,  in  which  we  discussed 
the  propriety  of  calling  upon  the  new-comer,  but  a  con- 
clusion seeming  impossible  (opinions  being  so  widely 
divergent),  it  was  decided  to  submit  the  important 
question  to  our  husbands. 

This  was  done  duly,  and  Senator  Clay's  counsel  to  me 
was  coincided  in  generally. 

"By  all  means,  call,"  said  he.  "You  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  lady's  private  life,  and,  as  a  mark  of  esteem 
to  a  statesman  of  her  husband's  prominence,  it  will  be 
better  to  call." 

Upon  a  certain  day,  therefore,  it  was  agreed  that  we 
should  pay  a  "mess"  call,  going  in  a  body.  We  drove 
accordingly,  in  dignity  and  in  state,  and,  truth  to  tell,  in 


54  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

soberness  and  ceremony,  to  the  mansion  aforenamed. 
It  was  the  lady's  reception  day.  We  entered  the  drawing- 
room  with  great  circumspection,  tempering  our  usually 
cordial  manner  with  a  fine  prudence ;  we  paid  our  devoirs 
to  the  hostess  and  retired.  But  now  a  curious  retribution 
overtook  us,  social  faint-hearts  that  we  were ;  for,  though 
we  heard  much  gossip  of  the  regality  and  originality  of  one 
or  more  dinners  given  to  the  several  diplomatic  corps 
(the  lady  especially  affected  the  French  Legation),  I 
never  heard  of  a  gathering  of  Washingtonians  at  her 
home,  nor  of  invitations  extended  to  them,  nor,  indeed, 
anything  more  of  her  until  two  months  had  flown.  Then, 
Arab-like,  the  lady  rose  in  the  night,  "  silently  folded  her 
tent  and  stole  away ' '  (to  meet  a  handsome  German  officer, 
it  was  said),  leaving  our  calls  unanswered,  save  by  the 
sending  of  her  card,  and  her  silver  and  china  and  crystal, 
her  paintings,  and  hangings,  and  furniture  to  be  auctioned 
off  to  the  highest  bidder  ! 

Everyone  in  Washington  now  thronged  to  see  the 
beautiful  things,  and  many  purchased  specimens  from 
among  them,  among  others  Mrs.  Davis.  By  a  curious 
turn  of  fate,  the  majority  of  these  treasures  were  ac- 
quired by  Mrs.  Senator  Yulee,  who  was  so  devoutly 
religious  that  her  piety  caused  her  friends  to  speak  of  her 
as  "the  Madonna  of  the  Wickliffe  sisters !"  The  superb 
furniture  of  the  whilom  hostess  was  carried  to  "  Homo- 
sassa,"  the  romantic  home  of  the  Yulees  in  Florida,  where 
in  later  years  it  was  reduced  to  ashes. 

Of  the  Wickliffe  sisters  there  were  three,  all  notably 
good  as  well  as  handsome  women,  with  whom  I  enjoyed 
a  life-time  friendship.  One  became  the  wife  of  Judge 
Merrick,  and  another,  who  dearly  loved  Senator  Clay  and 
me,  married  Joseph  Holt,  who  rose  high  in  Federal 
honours  after  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  having  sold 
his  Southern  birthright  for  a  mess  of  Northern  pottage. 

For  several  years  before  her  death,  Mrs.  Holt  was  an 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         55 

invalid  and  a  recluse,  yet  she  was  no  inconspicuous 
figure  in  Washington,  where  the  beauty  of  the  "three 
graces ' '  (as  the  sisters  of  Governor  Wickliffe  were  always 
designated)  was  long  a  criterion  by  which  other  belles 
were  judged.  Mrs.  Mallory,  the  wife  of  Senator  Yulee's 
confrere  from  Florida,  was  particularly  a  favourite  in  the 
capital.  The  Mallorys  were  the  owners  of  great  orange 
groves  in  that  lovely  State,  and  were  wont  from  time  to 
time  to  distribute  among  their  friends  boxes  of  choicest 
fruit. 

Of  our  "mess,"  Congressman  and  Mrs.  Curry  were 
least  frequently  to  be  met  with  in  social  gatherings.  Mrs. 
Curry,  who  was  a  Miss  Bowie,  devoted  her  time  wholly 
to  her  children,  apparently  feeling  no  interest  in  the  gay 
world  about  her,  being  as  gentle  and  retiring  as  her 
doughty  relative  (the  inventor  of  the  Bowie  knife)  was 
war-like.  Mr.  Curry  was  an  uncommonly  handsome 
man,  who,  in  the  fifties  and  early  sixties,  was  an  ambi- 
tious and  strenuous  politician.  He  died  early  in  1903, 
full  of  years  and  honours,  while  still  acting  as  the 
General  Agent  of  the  Peabody  fund. 

Nor  should  I  fail  to  recall  the  lovely  Mrs.  Clopton, 
wife  of  one  of  Senator  Clay's  most  trusted  friends,  Con- 
gressman David  Clopton.  She  joined  our  "mess"  late 
in  the  fifties,  and  at  once  added  to  its  fame  by  her  charm 
and  beauty.  She  was  a  sister  of  Governor  Ligon  of 
Alabama.  One  of  her  daughters  married  the  poet, 
Clifford  Lanier,  and  another  became  the  wife  of  Judge 
William  L.  Chambers,  who  for  several  exciting  years 
represented  our  Government  at  Samoa. 

But  my  oldest  and  dearest  mess-mate  during  nearly 
a  decade  in  the  capital  was,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere, 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  whose  husband,  Senator  Benjamin 
Fitzpatrick,  was  President  of  the  Senate  for  four  con- 
secutive sessions.  Senator  Fitzpatrick  was  very  mair). 
years  older  than  his  wife,  having,  indeed,  held  office  in 


56  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

1 8 1 8,  when  Alabama  was  a  territory,  and  when  few  of  his 
Alabamian  associates  in  Congress  had  been  ushered  upon 
the  stage  of  life.  Between  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  and  me  there 
was  an  undeviating  attachment  which  was  a  source  of 
wonder,  as  it  doubtless  was  rare,  among  women  in 
fashionable  life.  As  confreres  in  the  Senate,  our  hus- 
bands, despite  the  disparity  in  their  years,  were  fully 
in  accord ;  and  a  more  congenial  quartette  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find. 

I  think  of  all  the  harmonious  couples  I  have  known, 
Senator  and  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  easily  led,  though  near  to 
them  I  must  place  General  and  Mrs.  McQueen.  It  was 
a  standing  topic  in  Brown's  Hotel,  the  devotion  of  the 
two  middle-aged  gentlemen — Messrs.  Fitzpatrick  and 
McQueen — to  their  young  wives  and  to  their  boys, 
enfants  terrible s,  both  of  them  of  a  most  emphatic  type. 
"The  Heavenly  Twins"  as  a  title  had  not  yet  been 
evolved,  or  these  two  young  autocrats  of  the  hostelry 
would  surely  have  won  it  from  the  sarcastic. 

Benny  Fitzpatrick  was  at  once  the  idol  of  his  parents 
and  the  terror  of  the  hotel;  and,  as  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  and 
I  were  cordially  united  in  other  interests  of  life,  so  we 
shared  the  maternal  duties  as  became  two  devoted 
sisters,  "Our  boy  Benny"  receiving  the  motherly  over- 
sight of  whichsoever  of  us  happened  to  be  near  him  when 
occasion  arose  for  aid  or  admonition.  "Mrs.  Fitz" 
delivered  her  rebukes  with  "  Oh,  Benny  dear !  How 
could  you!"  but  I,  his  foster-mother,  was  constrained 
to  resort  betimes  to  a  certain  old-fashioned  punishment 
usually  administered  with  the  broadside  of  a  slipper,  or, 
what  shortly  became  as  efficacious,  a  threat  to  do  so. 

Benny,  like  George  Washington,  was  the  possessor  of 
a  little  hatchet,  with  which  he  worked  a  dreadful  havoc. 
He  chopped  at  the  rosewood  furniture  of  his  mother's 
drawing-room,  while  his  proud  parents,  amazed  at  his 
precocity,  not  to  say  prowess,  stood  by  awestruck,  and — ■ 


A  HISTORIC  CONGRESSIONAL  MESS         57 

paid  the  bill !  The  child  was  plump  and  healthy,  and 
boys  will  be  boys  !  Thus  were  we  all  become  his  sub- 
jects; thus  he  overran  Hannah,  his  coloured  nurse,  until 
one  day  Pat  came — ,  Pat  Dolan. 

Pat  had  been  a  page  at  the  Senate,  and  in  some  for- 
gotten way  he  and  little  Benny  had  become  inseparable 
friends.  Thereafter,  Benny  was  taken  by  his  fond 
guardian,  into  whose  hands  his  three  anxious  parents  con- 
sented to  consign  him,  to  see  the  varying  sights  and 
the  various  quarters  of  the  city.  As  his  experiences 
multiplied,  so  his  reputation  for  precocity  increased  in 
exact  ratio. 

One  day  Hannah's  excitement  ran  high.  "  Lor ! 
Miss  'Relia,"  she  burst  out  impetuously  to  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick,  "Pat  Dolan  done  carried  Benny  to  the  Cath'lic 
church  an'  got  him  sprinkled,  'n  den  he  brung  him  to 
communion,  an'  first  thing  Pat  knowed,  Benny  he 
drunk  up  all  the  holy  water  an'  eat  up  the  whole  wafer  ! " 


CHAPTER   IV 

The  Cabinet  Circles  of  the  Pierce  and  Buchanan 
Administrations 

Writing  to  my  father-in-law,  ex-Governor  Clay,  on 
Christmas  night,  1856,  of  the  deep  inward  excitement  of 
the  times,  I  said:  "We  feel  a  little  as  Fanny  Fern  says 
Eugenie  felt  when  she  espoused  Louis  Napoleon,  as  if 
we  are  '  dancing  over  a  powder  magazine  ! '  Everything 
is  excitement  and  confusion.  I  tell  you  Fusion  reigns 
in  truth,  and  Southern  blood  is  at  boiling  temperature 
all  over  the  city,  and  with  good  cause,  too.  Old  Giddings, 
Thurlow  Weed,  Sumner,  Seward,  Chase  (who  is  here  for 
a  few  days  prior  to  his  inauguration*)  are  daily  taunting 
and  insulting  all  whom  they  dare.  There  is  no  more  pros- 
pect of  a  Speaker  now  than  there  was  at  first;  indeed, 
less,  and  our  men  have  despaired  of  Christmas  holidays 
at  home.  Desertion  of  their  post  would  mean  death  to 
their  party  and  themselves,  and  they  know  and  appreciate 
it,  and,  so  far,  stand  firm  as  a  Roman  phalanx.  Should 
there  prove  one  deserter,  the  'game  is  up,'  for  there  is  a 
Black  Republican  at  every  corner  of  our  political  fence, 
and  if  ever  the  gap  is  down  we  are  gone.  I  wish  you 
could  be  here  to  witness  the  scenes  daily  enacted  in  the 
halls  of  Congress,  to  hear  the  hot  taunts  of  defiance 
hurled  into  the  very  teeth  of  the  Northerners  by  our 
goaded  but  spirited  patriots.  I  expect  any  day  to 
hear  of  bloodshed  and  death,  and  would  not  be  surprised 
at  any  time  to  witness  (repeated  here)  the  Civil  War  of 
Kansas  !    We  still  hope  for  Orr,  though  he  is  not  sanguine. 

*  As  Governor  of  Ohio. 

58 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  59 

The  President  still  holds  his  message,  fearing  to  give  it 
to  the  press,  and  it  is  thought  it  will  go  to  Congress  in 
manuscript.  He,  poor  fellow,  is  worn  and  weary,  and 
his  wife  in  extremely  delicate  health." 

President  Pierce  was,  in  fact,  a  very  harassed  man,  as 
none  knew  better  than  did  Senator  Clay.  My  husband's 
friendship  was  unwearying  toward  all  to  whom  his  reserved 
nature  yielded  it,  and  his  devotion  to  Mr.  Pierce  was 
unswerving.  Though  twelve  years  the  President's  junior, 
from  the  first  my  husband  was  known  as  one  of  the 
President's  counsellors,  and  none  of  those  who  surrounded 
the  Nation's  executive  head  more  sacredly  preserved 
his  confidence.  Senator  Clay  believed  unequivocally 
that  our  President  was  "not  in  the  roll  of  common  men." 

Bold  and  dauntless  where  a  principle  was  involved, 
Mr.  Pierce's  message  of  '55  fell  like  a  bombshell  on  the 
Black  Republican  party.  Its  bold  pro-slaveryism  startled 
even  his  friends;  for,  never  had  a  predecessor,  while  in 
the  Executive  Chair,  talked  so  strongly  or  so  harshly  to 
sectionalists  and  fanatics.  To  this  stand,  so  bravely 
taken,  his  defeat  at  the  next  Presidential  election  was 
doubtless  at  least  partially  attributable.  Meantime,  the 
South  owed  him  much,  and  none  of  its  representatives 
was  more  staunchly  devoted  to  President  Pierce  than 
was  the  Senator  from  northern  Alabama.  How  fully 
Mr.  Pierce  relied  upon  Senator  Clay's  discretion  may 
be  illustrated  by  an  incident  which  lives  still  very 
vividly  in  my  memory. 

My  husband  and  I  were  seated  one  evening  before  a 
blazing  fire  in  our  parlour  at  the  Ebbitt  House,  in  the 
first  enjoyment  of  an  evening  at  home  (a  rare  luxury  to 
public  folk  in  the  capital),  when  we  heard  a  low  and 
unusual  knock  at  the  door.  My  trim  maid,  Emily,  has- 
tened to  open  it,  when  there  entered  hastily  a  tall  figure, 
wrapped  in  a  long  storm-cloak  on  which  the  snow-flakes 
still  lay  thickly.     The   new-comer  was   muffled  to  the 


6o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

eyes.  He  glanced  quickly  about  the  rooms,  making  a 
motion  to  us,  as  he  did  so,  to  remain  silent.  My  husband 
rose  inquiringly,  failing,  as  did  I,  to  recognise  our  mys- 
terious visitor.  In  a  second  more,  however,  perceiving 
that  we  were  alone,  he  threw  off  his  outer  coat  and  soft 
hat,  when,  to  our  astonishment,  our  unceremonious  and 
unexpected  guest  stood  revealed  as  the  President ! 

"Lock  that  door,  Clay!"  he  said,  almost  pathetically, 
"and  don't  let  a  soul  know  I'm  here!"  Then,  turning, 
he  handed  me  a  small  package  which  he  had  carried 
under  his  coat. 

"For  you,  Mrs.  Clay,"  he  said.  "It  is  my  picture.  I 
hope  you  will  care  to  take  it  with  you  to  Alabama,  and 
sometimes  remember  me  ! ' ' 

I  thanked  him  delightedly  as  I  untied  the  package 
and  saw  within  a  handsome  photograph  superbly  framed. 
Then,  as  he  wearily  sat  down  before  our  crackling  fire, 
I  hastened  to  assist  Emily  in  her  preparation  of  a  friendly 
egg-nog. 

"Ah,  my  dear  friends!"  said  Mr.  Pierce,  leaning 
forward  in  his  arm-chair  and  warming  his  hands  as  he 
spoke;  "I  am  so  tired  of  the  shackles  of  Presidential 
life  that  I  can  scarcely  endure  it !  I  long  for  quiet — 
for — "  and  he  looked  around  our  restful  parlours — "for 
this  !  Oh !  for  relaxation  and  privacy  once  more,  and 
a  chance  for  home  ! ' ' 

His  voice  and  every  action  betrayed  the  weary  man. 
We  were  deeply  moved,  and  my  husband  uttered  such 
sympathetic  words  as  only  a  wise  man  may.  The  egg- 
nog  prepared,  I  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
President  and  Mr.  Clay  in  all  the  comfort  of  a  friendly 
chat.  Primarily,  the  object  of  his  visit  was  to  discuss  an 
affair  of  national  moment  which  was  to  be  brought  before 
the  Senate  the  next  day;  but  the  outlook  of  the  times 
which  also  fell  naturally  under  discussion  formed  no 
small  part  in  the  topics  thus  intimately  scanned.     Both 


FRANKLIN  PIERCE 
President  of  the  United  States,  1853-57 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  61 

were  men  to  whom  the  horrid  sounds  of  coming  combat 
were  audible,  and  both  were  patriots  seeking  how  they 
might  do  their  part  to  avert  it.  It  was  midnight  ere 
Mr.  Pierce  rose  to  go.  Then,  fortified  by  another  of 
Emily's  incomparable  egg-nogs,  he  was  again,  incognito, 
on  his  way  to  the  White  House. 

My  remembrances  of  that  secret  visit  have  ever  re- 
mained most  keen.  Often,  when  I  think  of  the  lonely 
grave  on  the  quiet  hillside  at  Concord,  I  recall  the  night 
when  weariness  of  body  and  State  formalities  impelled 
the  President  to  our  cozy  fireside,  though  he  beat  his  way 
to  it  through  snow  and  winds,  stealing  from  the  trammels 
of  his  position  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  walking  the  streets 
unimpeded  and  free  as  any  other  citizen. 

President  Pierce  entered  the  White  House  in  1853, 
full  as  a  youth  of  leaping  life.  A  year  before  his  inaugu- 
ration I  had  seen  him  bound  up  the  stairs  with  the 
elasticity  and  lightness  of  a  schoolboy.  He  went  out 
after  four  years  a  staid  and  grave  man,  on  whom  the 
stamp  of  care  and  illness  was  ineradicably  impressed. 

I  often  contrasted  the  pale,  worn,  haggard  man  whose 
"  wine  of  life  was  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees  left  i'  the  vault," 
ere  his  term  (so  coveted  by  many)  was  spent,  with  the 
buoyant  person  I  first  met  on  the  breezy  New  Hampshire 
hills ! 

Especially  a  lovable  man  in  his  private  character, 
President  Pierce  was  a  man  of  whom  our  nation 
might  well  be  proud  to  have  at  its  head.  Graced 
with  an  unusually  fine  presence,  he  was  most  courtly 
and  polished  in  manner.  Fair  rather  than  dark,  of 
graceful  carriage,*  he  was  also  an  eloquent  speaker, 
and,  though  reserved  to  a  degree,  was  very  winning  in 
manner.     He  was  still  in  middle  life  when  elected  to  the 

*  "President  Pierce  was  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  have  ever 
seen  !"  was  the  remark  of  Colonel  Watterson  to  me,  while  dwelling  on 
those  ante-bellum  personages.     A.  S. 


62  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Presidency,  being  less  than  forty-nine  years  of  age  when 
inaugurated. 

Taken  all  in  all,  the  Cabinet  circle  formed  by  Mr. 
Pierce  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  bodies  that  has 
ever  surrounded  an  American  Chief  Magistrate.  Selected 
wisely,  the  ministerial  body  remained  unchanged  through- 
out the  entire  Administration,  and  this  at  a  time  of 
unceasing  and  general  contention.  But  three  such 
instances  are  recorded  in  the  histories  of  the  twenty-six 
Presidents  of  the  United  States,  the  others  occurring  in 
the  terms  of  J.  Q.  Adams  and  James  A.  Garfield.  The 
tie  which  bound  President  Pierce  and  his  Cabinet  so 
inalienably  was  one  of  mutual  confidence  and  personal 
friendship.  Perhaps  the  closest  ally  of  the  President's 
was  his  Secretary  of  State,  William  L.  Marcy.  That 
great  Secretary  was  a  man  whose  unusual  poise  and 
uniform  complacency  were  often  as  much  a  source  of  envy 
to  his  friends  as  of  confusion  to  his  enemies.  I  com- 
mented upon  it  to  my  husband  on  one  occasion,  wondering 
interrogatively  at  his  composure,  whereupon  Senator 
Clay  told  me  the  following  story : 

Some  one  as  curious  as  I  once  asked  the  Secretary 
how  he  preserved  his  unvarying  calmness.  "Well,"  he 
answered,  confidentially,  "I'll  tell  you.  I  have  given  my 
secretary  orders  that  whenever  he  sees  an  article  eulo- 
gistic of  me,  praising  my  'astuteness,'  my  'far-seeing 
diplomacy,'  my  'incomparable  statesmanship,'  etc.,  he 
is  to  cut  it  out  and  place  it  conspicuously  on  my  desk 
where  I  can  see  it  first  thing  in  the  morning;  everything 
to  the  contrary  he  is  to  cut  out  and  up  and  consign  to 
the  waste-basket.  By  this  means,  hearing  nothing  but 
good  of  myself,  I  have  come  naturally  to  regard  myself 
as  a  pretty  good  fellow  !  Who  wouldn't  be  serene  under 
such  circumstances?" 

To  add  to  his  contentment  thus  philosophically  as- 
sured, the  Secretary's  home  surroundings  were  peculiarly 


MRS.  WILLIAM  L.  MARCY 
of  New  York 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  63 

satisfactory  to  him.  Mrs.  Marcy  was  a  demure  and 
retiring  woman,  taking  little  part  in  the  gayer  happenings 
of  the  city,  but  on  Cabinet  days  her  welcome  was  always 
diplomatically  cordial  and  her  full  parlours  gave  evidence 
of  her  personal  popularity.  A  charming  member  of  her 
family,  Nellie,  daughter  of  General  R.  B.  Marcy,  be- 
came the  wife  of  General  McClellan,  whose  son,  named 
for  that  military  hero,  at  this  writing  is  Mayor  of 
America's  metropolis.  Between  President  and  Mrs. 
Pierce  and  Secretary  and  Mrs.  Marcy  a  firm  friendship 
existed.  It  was  to  the  home  of  the  Secretary  that 
President  and  Mrs.  Pierce  retired  while  the  White 
House  was  being  rehabilitated  for  the  occupancy  of  Mr. 
Buchanan,  who  had  just  returned  from  his  residence 
abroad,  where,  as  Mr.  Pierce's  appointee,  he  served  as 
Minister  to  the  Court  of  St.  James. 

On  the  day  of  Mr.  Buchanan's  inauguration  a  curious 
oversight  occurred  which  demonstrated  in  marked 
manner  how  eagerly  a  populace  hastens  to  shout  "The 
king  is  dead  !  Long  live  the  King  ! ' '  The  procession 
of  carriages  had  already  formed  and  the  moment  for 
beginning  the  march  to  the  Capitol  had  almost  arrived  ere 
it  was  observed  that  the  vehicle  set  apart  for  President 
Pierce  was  unoccupied.  Inquiry  was  hastily  instituted, 
when  it  was  discovered  that,  owing  to  some  omission  on 
the  part  of  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  his  Excellency  had 
not  been  sent  for !  The  horses'  heads  were  turned  in  a 
trice,  and  they  were  driven  furiously  to  the  Marcy 
residence,  where  the  quiet  gentleman  who  was  still  the 
President  of  the  United  States  awaited  them. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  my  husband  called  upon  Mr. 
Pierce,  and,  during  the  conversation  that  followed,  Mr. 
Clay  referred  indignantly  to  the  unfortunate  affair. 

"Ah,  Clay!"  said  Mr.  Pierce,  smiling  quietly.  "Have 
you  lived  so  long  without  knowing  that  all  the  homage  is 
given  to  the  rising  sun,  never  to  the  setting,  however 
resplendent  its  noonday?" 


64  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Of  Secretaries  Campbell  and  McClelland,  the  gay,  and 
especially  the  Southern  world,  saw  but  little;  nor  did 
Caleb  Cushing,  the  Attorney-General,  for  whom  every 
Southerner  must  ever  feel  a  thrill  of  admiration  for 
his  spirited  speech  on  their  behalf  in  Faneuil  Hall, 
mingle  much  with  the  lighter  element.  He  was  a  silent 
man,  a  bachelor,  who  entertained  not  at  all,  though 
paying  dutifully  such  formal  calls  as  seemed  obligatory; 
and  Senator  Clay,  whose  delicate  health  and  naturally 
studious  mind  made  continual  attendance  upon  society 
an  onerous  and  often  shirked  duty,  had  much  in  common 
with  and  greatly  esteemed  Mr.  Cushing,  at  that  time 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  earnest  statesmen  in  the 
capital. 

In  later  life,  one  who  had  been  a  conspicuous  Senator 
from  Mississippi  in  ante-bellum  days,  appraised  him 
differently,  for  in  1872  he  wrote  to  my  husband  in  this 
wise :  "I  had  no  confidence  in  Cushing  beyond  that  of  a 
follower  to  a  quicker  intellect  and  a  braver  heart  He 
could  appreciate  the  gallantry  and  fidelity  of  Pierce,  so 
he  followed  him.  Like  the  chameleon,  he  was  green, 
or  blue,  or  brown,  according  to  what  he  rested  upon." 

An  affable  young  man,  Mr.  Spofford,  member  of  Mr. 
Cushing's  household,  and  serving  as  that  gentleman's 
secretary,  was  no  inconsiderable  figure  in  Washington. 
He  became  a  great  favourite  in  all  the  notable  drawing- 
rooms,  especially  with  young  ladies,  and  the  names  of  a 
half-dozen  belles  were  given  who  had  fallen  in  love  with 
him;  but  he  remained  invulnerable  to  the  flashing  eyes 
and  bright  spirits  about  him,  and  married  a  clever 
.  authoress,  whose  writings,  as  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford, 
■\  have  become  familiar  to  a  large  class  of  American  readers. 
.^\  My   personal  Jayourite___of   all   the    Cabinet    Ministers 

->°  N  was  the  Secretary  ofjhe  Navy,  J.  C.  Dobbin.  He  was  a 
North  CarolinianTand  the~cnildren  of  my  native  State 
were  always  dear  to  me.     Being  a  widower,  Mr.  Dobbin's 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  65 

home  was  also  closed  from  formal  entertainment,  but 
the  Secretary  was  seen  now  and  then  in  society,  where  he 
was  much  sought  after  (though  not  always  found)  by  the 
leading  hostesses,  whenever  he  consented  to  mingle  with 
it.  In  his  parlours,  which  now  and  then  he  opened  to 
his  most  favoured  friends,  he  kept  on  exhibition  for  years, 
sealed  under  a  glass  case,  the  suit  in  which  Dr.  Kane,  the 
Arctic  explorer,  had  lived  during  his  sojourn  among  the 
icy  seas. 

Secretary  Dobbin  was  a  small  man;  in  truth,  a  duo- 
decimo edition  of  his  sex,  and  exquisitely  presented — a 
fact,  which  was  as  freely  yielded  by  his  confreres  as  by 
his  gentler  admirers.  A  man  of  conspicuous  intellec- 
tuality and  firmness  in  the  administration  of  his  depart- 
ment, his  heart  was  also  very  tender.  Of  this  he  once 
gave  me  an  especially  treasured  demonstration. 

My  friend,  Emily  Spicer,  wife  of  Lieutenant  William 
F.  Spicer,  afterward  Commander  of  the  Boston  Navy 
Yard,  at  a  very  critical  time,  was  suddenly  obliged,  by  the 
exigencies  of  the  Naval  Service,  to  see  her  husband  prepare 
for  what  promised  to  be  a  long,  and,  it  might  prove,  a 
final  separation.  Tenderly  attached  to  each  other,  the 
young  husband  at  last  literally  tore  himself  from  his 
wife,  leaving  her  in  an  unconscious  state,  from  which  she 
did  not  recover  for  many  hours.  Grave  fears  were  enter- 
tained as  to  the  disastrous  effect  the  parting  would  have 
upon  the  young  matron. 

Having  witnessed  the  sad  scene,  I  went  at  once  to 
Secretary  Dobbin  and  told  him  of  it.  His  eyes  lighted 
up  most  sympathetically,  even  while  he  explained  to 
me  the  necessity  for  adhering  strictly  to  the  rules  of  the 
Service,  but,  even  as  he  marshalled  the  obstacles  to  my 
plea,  by  intuition  I  knew  his  heart  was  stirred,  and  when 
I  parted  from  him,  he  said,  "  Comfort  her,  dear  Mrs.  Clay, 
with  this  assurance :  If  Spicer  is  on  the  high  seas  he  shall 
be  ordered  home;  if  he  has  arrived  in  Italy"  (for  which 


66  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

coast  the  Lieutenant's  ship  was  booked)  "he  shall  remain 
there  and  his  wife  may  join  him."  I  went  away  grateful 
for  his  sympathy  for  my  stricken  friend,  and  hastened  to 
soothe  her. 

The  Secretary  kept  his  word.  In  a  few  passing  weeks 
the  young  couple  were  reunited  on  the  coast  of  Italy. 
"God  bless  you,  my  dear  Madame,"  wrote  Lieutenant 
Spicer,  thereupon.  "I  am  forever  thankfully  yours!" 
And  they  kept  a  promise  I  had  exacted,  and  named  the 
baby,  which  proved  to  be  a  boy,  after  my  dear  husband  ! 
Long  after  his  distinguished  namesake  had  vanished  from 
the  world's  stage,  a  bearded  man  of  thirty  came  across  the 
ocean  and  a  continent  to  greet  me,  his  "second  mother," 
as  he  had  been  taught  to  think  of  me  by  my  grateful 
friend,  his  mother,  Mrs.  Spicer. 

Once  more  I  called  upon  Secretary  Dobbin,  on  behalf 
of  a  young  naval  officer,  but  this  time  with  a  less  pathetic 

request.     Our    young    friend    Lieutenant    ,    having 

returned  from  a  long  cruise  (which,  while  it  lasted,  had 
seemed  to  be  all  but  unbearable  because  of  its  many 
social  deprivations),  upon  his  arrival  was  so  swiftly 
enthralled  by  the  attractions  of  a  certain  young  lady 
(who  shall  be  as  nameless  as  is  he)  that  in  his  augmenting 
fervour  he  proposed  to  her  at  once. 

The  lady  accepted.  She  was  very  young,  very  beau- 
tiful, very  romantic,  and,  alas !  very  poor !  He  was 
scarcely  older,  fully  as  romantic,  and  also,  alas !  was,  if 
anything,  poorer  than  she — a  fact  of  which  his  swashing 
and  naval  display  of  gold-plated  buttons  and  braid 
gave  no  hint. 

The  romance  lasted  about  two  weeks,  with  waning 
enthusiasm  on  the  youth's  side,  when,  in  great  distress, 
he  came  to  see  me.  He  made  a  clean  breast  of  the 
dilemma  into  which  he  had  plunged. 

"I  beg  you  will  rescue  me,  Mrs.  Clay,"  he  said.  "Get 
me  transferred,   or  sent  out  anywhere !      I've  made  a 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  67 

fool  of  myself.  I  can't  marry  her,"  he  declared.  "I 
haven't  income  enough  to  buy  my  own  clothes,  and,  as 
for  providing  for  a  girl  of  her  tastes,  I  don't  know  whether 
I  shall  ever  be  able  to  do  so." 

"  But,"  I  remonstrated,  "  how  can  I  help  you ?  You've 
only  just  returned,  and  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events 
you  would  remain  on  shore  at  least  six  weeks.  That 
isn't  long.     Try  to  bear  it  a  while  ! " 

"Long  enough  for  a  marriage  in  naval  life,"  he  de- 
clared, ruefully.  "And  I  can't  break  it  off  without 
your  assistance  Help  me,  Mrs.  Clay!  If  you  don't — " 
He  looked  sheepish,  but  dogged.  "I'll  do  what  the 
Irishman  did  in  Charleston  ! ' ' 

"What  was  that?"  I  asked. 

"  Well !  he  was  in  exactly  the  same  pickle  I  am  in,  so  he 
hired  a  man  and  a  wheel-barrow,  and  lying  down,  face  up 
in  it,  had  himself  rolled  past  the  lady's  house  at  a  time 
when  he  knew  she  was  at  home.  Then,  as  the  barrow 
arrived  at  this  point,  he  had  his  man  stop  for  a  few 
moments  to  wipe  the  sweat  of  honest  toil  from  his  fore- 
head, and,  incidentally,  to  give  the  lookers-on  an  oppor- 
tunity for  complete  identification.  .  .  .  Only  diffi- 
culty with  that  is,  how  would  it  affect  me  in  the  service  ?" 
And  the  Lieutenant  became  dubious  and  I  thoughtful. 

"  If  I  knew  on  what  grounds  to  approach  Secretary 
Dobbin,"   I  began. 

"There  aren't  any,"  the  Lieutenant  answered  eagerly. 
"  But  there  are  two  ships  just  fitting  out,  and  lots  of  men 
on  them  would  be  glad  to  get  off  from  a  three-years' 
cruise.  I  would  ship  for  six  years,  nine — anything  that 
would  get  me  out  of  this  fix  !" 

On  this  desperate  statement  I  applied  to  the  Secretary. 
Within  ten  days  my  gallant  " friend"  was  on  the  sea,  and 
one  of  Washington's  beautiful  maidens  in  tears.  Glanc- 
ing over  my  letters,  I  see  that  at  the  end  of  ten  years  the 
young  Naval  officer  was  still  unwed,  though  not  alto- 


68  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

gether  scarless  as  to  intervening  love  affairs;  but  the 
lady  was  now  the  happy  wife  of  a  member  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  wealthiest  families  in  the  United  States  ! 

Secretary  Dobbin  was  my  escort  on  my  first  (a  most 
memorable)  visit  to  Fort  Monroe.  The  occasion  was  a 
brilliant  one,  for  the  President  and  his  Cabinet  had  come 
in  a  body  to  review  the  troops.  Jefferson  Davis,  then 
Secretary  of  War,  and  but  recently  the  hero  of  the  battle 
of  Buena  Vista,  directed  the  manoeuvres,  his  spirited 
figure,  superb  horsemanship,  and  warlike  bearing  attract- 
ing general  attention.  An  entire  day  was  given  up  to 
this  holiday-making,  and  the  scene  was  one  of  splendid 
excitement.  At  night  the  Fort  and  the  waters  beyond 
were  lit  up  by  a  pyrotechnic  display  of  great  gorgeous- 
ness,  and  enthusiasm  rose  to  its  highest  when,  amid  the 
booming  of  cannon  and  the  plaudits  of  happy  people,  an 
especially  ingenious  device  blazed  across  the  night  sky 
the  names  of  Franklin  Pierce  and  Jefferson  Davis  ! 

Always  a  man  of  distinguished  appearance,  Secretary 
Davis  at  that  time  was  exceedingly  slender,  but  his  step 
was  springy,  and  he  carried  himself  with  such  an  air  of 
conscious  strength  and  ease  and  purpose  as  often  to  cause 
a  stranger  to  turn  and  look  at  him.  His  voice  was  very 
rich  and  sonorous,  his  enunciation  most  pleasing.  In 
public  speech  he  was  eloquent  and  magnetic,  but,  curiously 
enough,  he  was  a  poor  reader, _often_-_"  -mnufhing "_  his 
phrases  in  a  way  that  would  have  aroused  Hamlet's  scorn. 
Though  spoken  of  as~~coIcTand  haughty,  in  private  his 
friends  found  him  refreshingly  informal  and  frank. 
From  their  first  meeting,  Secretary  Davis  was  the  inti- 
mate friend  of  my  husband,  whose  loyalty  to  Mr.  Davis 
in  the  momentous  closing  days  of  the  Confederacy  reacted 
so  unfortunately  upon  his  own  liberty  and  welfare. 

Neither  the  Secretary  of  War  nor  his  wife  appeared 
frequently  in  society  in  the  earlier  days  of  his  appoint- 
ment,  the   attention  of  Mr.    Davis  being  concentrated 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  69 

upon  the  duties  of  his  office,  and  a  young  family  engaging 
that  of  his  wife.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  so  wonderful 
was  Mr.  Davis's  oversight  of  the  Department  of  War 
while  under  his  charge,  that  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  the  Government  to  have  been  cheated  out  of  the 
value  of  a  brass  button  !  So  proud  was  his  adopted  State 
of  him,  that  at  the  close  of  Mr.  Pierce's  administration, 
Mississippi  promptly  returned  Mr.  Davis  to  Washington 
as  Senator.  Almost  immediately  thereafter  he  became 
the  victim  of  a  serious  illness,  which  lasted  many  weeks, 
and  a  complication  of  troubles  set  in  which  culminated  in 
the  loss  of  sight  in  one  eye.  During  that  period  my  hus- 
band gave  up  many  nights  to  the  nursing  of  the  invalid, 
who  was  tortured  by  neuralgic  pains  and  nervous  tension. 
Senator  Clay's  solicitude  for  Mr.  Davis  was  ever  of  the 
deepest,  as  his  efforts  to  sustain  and  defend  him  to  the 
last  were  of  the  most  unselfish. 

Aaron  V.  Brown,  who  became  Postmaster-General  in 
1857,  was  at  once  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  and  simplest 
of  men,  loving  his  home  and  being  especially  indifferent 
to  all  things  that  savoured  of  the  merely  fashionable  and 
superficial.  He  occupied  a  house  which  by  long  associa- 
tion with  distinguished  people  had  become  prominently 
known.  Not  infrequently  the  Brown  residence  was 
alluded  to  as  the  "Cabinet  Mansion."  Here,  among 
other  celebrities,  had  lived  Attorney-General  Wirt,  and 
in  it  Mrs.  Wirt  had  compiled  the  first  "  Flora's  Diction- 
ary." The  hospitality  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown,  being 
boundless,  served  to  accentuate  its  reputation,  for,  unlike 
her  husband,  Mrs.  Brown  was  socially  most  industrious, 
and,  being  exceedingly  well-to-do,  was  full  of  enterprise 
in  the  invention  of  novel  surprises  for  her  guests.  Mrs. 
Brown,  who  was  the  sister  of  the  afterward  distinguished 
Major-General  Pillow,  of  the  Confederate  Army,  was  the 
first  hostess  in  Washington,  I  think,  to  introduce  orches- 
tral music  at  dinner,  and  her  daughter,  Narcissa  Sanders, 


7o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

with  as  pronounced  a  spirit  of  innovation,*  sent  out 
enormous  cards  of  invitation  in  her  own  name,  inviting 
the  distinguished  folk  of  the  capital  to  the  house  of  the 
Postmaster-General  to  meet— herself  ! 

I  remember  a  dinner  at  this  luxurious  home  of  Mr. 
Brown,  at  which  my  host,  who  took  me  in,  amused  me 
immensely  at  the  expense  of  the  elaborate  feast  before 
us,  and  at  some  of  his  wife's  kindly,  if  costly,  foibles. 
Behind  a  barrier  of  plants  a  band  played  softly;  around 
us  were  the  obsequious  waiters  from  Gautier's. 

"All  from  Gautier's  !"  sighed  the  Postmaster-General, 
in  mock  despair.  "My  wife's  napery  is  the  best  to  be 
had,  but  she  will  have  Gautier's  !  Our  silver  is — cer- 
tainly not  the  plainest  in  the  city,  but  Mrs.  Brown  must 
have  Gautier's !  We  have  an  incomparable  chef,  but 
nothing  will  please  my  wife  but  these ' ' ;  and  he  scanned 
the  mysterious  menu  with  its  tier  after  tier  of  unknown 
French  names.  Then  he  turned  suddenly  and  asked  me, 
pointing  to  a  line,  "My  child,  what's  this?  Don't  know, 
eh?  Well,  neither  do  I,  but  let's  try  it,  anyway.  I  don't 
suppose  it  will  kill  us,"  and  so  on,  the  good  old  gentle- 
man keeping  me  in  a  continual  bubble  of  smothered 
laughter  to  the  end  of  the  dinner. 

A  member  of  Mr.  Pierce's  Cabinet,  whose  house  was 
as  conspicuous  for  its  large  and  lavish  entertaining  as 
was  Mr.  Brown's,  was  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
Guthrie,  the  wealthy  Kentuckian.  Mr.  Guthrie  was  no 
society  lover  (it  was  a  time  when  statesmen  had  need  to 
be  absorbed  in  weightier  things),  but  he  entertained,  I 
always  thought,  as  a  part  of  his  public  duty.  His  was  a 
big,  square-shouldered  and  angular  figure,  and  his  appear- 

*  "I  remember,"  said  General  Joseph  Wheeler,  "hearing  of  those 
innovations,  and  that  the  guests  entered  the  dining-room  two  by  two, 
and  left  it  in  the  same  order,  to  the  music  of  the  orchestra.  They 
introduced  the  custom  of  announcing  the  arrival  of  each  guest  at 
receptions,  by  having  a  functionary  call  the  name,  aloud,  a  novelty 
against  which  a  good  many  rebelled."     A.  S. 


THE  CABINET  CIRCLES  71 

ance,  it  was  obvious,  at  receptions  was  perfunctory  rathef 
than  a  pleasure.  A  widower,  his  home  was  presided  over 
by  his  two  daughters,  Mrs.  Polk  and  Mrs.  Coke,  both 
also  widowed.  I  often  thought  Secretary  Guthrie's 
capacious  ballroom  suggestive,  in  its  proportions,  of  a 
public  hall. 

Here,  one  evening,  I  had  my  never-to-be-forgotten 
rencontre  with  Chevalier  Bertinatti,  the  Sardinian  Minis- 
ter. Dear  old  Bertinatti !  In  all  the  diplomatic  circle 
of  the  Pierce  and  Buchanan  administrations  there  was 
not  to  be  found  a  personage  at  once  more  dignified  and 
genial.  Serious,  yet  enthusiastic,  his  naturally  kind 
heart  adding  warmth  to  the  gallantry  for  which  foreign- 
ers are  famous,  the  Chevalier  was  a  typical  ambassador 
of  the  Latin  people.  He  was  a  learned  man,  especially 
in  matters  American,  and  knew  our  Constitution  better 
than  did  many  of  our  native  representatives  in  Washing- 
ton. He  encountered  bravely,  though  not  always  suc- 
cessfully, the  difficulties  of  the  English  language,  and  his 
defeats  in  this  field  (such  is  the  irony  of  fate)  have  served 
to  keep  him  longer  in  the  minds  of  many  than  have  his 
successes. 

Upon  the  occasion  to  which  I  have  referred,  a  soiree 
was  held  at  Secretary  Guthrie's  house,  at  which  half  the 
world  was  present.  I  wore  that  evening  a  gown  of  foreign 
silk,  the  colour  of  the  pomegranate  blossom,  and  with  it 
a  Sardinian  head-dress  and  ornaments  which  had  been 
sent  me  by  a  Consular  friend.  Seeing  me  at  some  dis- 
tance, the  Chevalier  failed  to  recognise  me  and  asked 
one  of  the  hostesses,  with  whom  he  was  conversing, 
"Who  is  zat  lady  wis  my  kontree-woman's  ornaments?" 

Upon  learning  my  identity  he  came  forward  quickly 
and,  gazing  admiringly  at  me,  he  threw  himself  on  his 
knee  before  me  (kissing  my  hand  as  he  did  so,  with 
ardent  gallantry)  as  he  exclaimed:  "Madame,  you  are 
charming  wis  zat  head-dress   like  my  kontree-women ! 


72  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Madame !  I  assure  you,  you  have  conquest  me  behind 
and  now  you  conquest  me  before!"  and  he  bowed  pro- 
foundly. 

This  remarkable  compliment  was  long  remembered 
and  recounted  wherever  the  name  of  the  kind-hearted 
diplomat  was  mentioned.  A  great  many  ties  bound 
Monsieur  Bertinatti  to  Washington  society,  not  the  least 
of  which  was  his  marriage  to  Mrs.  Bass  of  Mississippi,  an 
admired  member  of  the  Southern  and  predominating 
element  in  the  capital.  Her  daughter,  who  returned  to 
die  in  her  native  land  (she  was  buried  from  the  Cathedral 
in  Memphis,  Tennessee),  became  the  Marquise  Incisa  di 
Camerana. 

When,  after  decades  of  political  strife,  the  crucial  time 
of  separation  came  between  the  North  and  the  South, 
and  we  of  the  South  were  preparing  to  leave  the  Federal 
City,  I  could  not  conceal  my  sorrow;  and  tears,  ever  a 
blessed  boon  to  women,  frequently  blinded  me  as  I  bade 
first  one  and  then  another  of  our  associates  what  was  to 
be  a  long  good-bye.  At  such  an  expression  of  my  grief 
the  Chevalier  Bertinatti  was  much  troubled. 

"Don't  weep,"  he  said.  "Don't  weep,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Clay.  You  have  had  sixty  years  of  uninterrupted  peace  ! 
This  is  but  a  revolution,  and  all  countries  must  suffer 
from  them  at  times  !  Look  at  my  poor  country  !  I  was 
born  in  revolution,  and  reared  in  revolution,  and  I  expect 
to  die  in  revolution  !"  And  with  this  offering  of  philosophic 
consolation  we  parted. 


CHAPTER   V 

SOLONS    OF    THE    CAPITAL 

The  classes  of  Washington  society  in  the  fifties  were 
peculiarly  distinct.  They  were  not  unlike  its  topography, 
which  is  made  up  of  many  small  circles  and  triangles,  into 
each  of  which  run  tributary  streets  and  avenues.  In  the 
social  life,  each  division  in  the  Congressional  body  was  as 
a  magnetic  circle,  attracting  to  itself  by  way  of  defined 
radii  those  whose  tastes  or  political  interests  were  in  sym- 
pathy with  it.  Not  less  prominent  than  the  Cabinet 
circle  (outranking  it,  in  fact),  and  fully  as  interesting  by 
reason  of  its  undisguised  preference  for  things  solid, 
scientific  and  intellectual,  was  the  Judiciary  or  Supreme 
Court  set.  The  several  Justices  that  composed  this  august 
body,  together  with  their  wives  and  daughters,  formed 
a  charmed  circle  into  which  the  merely  light-minded 
would  scarcely  have  ventured.  Here  one  met  the  wit- 
tiest and  the  weightiest  minds  of  the  capital,  and  here, 
perhaps  more  than  in  any  other  coterie,  the  newcomer 
was  impressed  with  what  Messrs.  Nicolay  and  Hay 
describe  as  "the  singular  charm  of  Washington  life." 
In  the  Supreme  Court  circle,  the  conditions  attending 
Congressional  life  in  those  strenuous  times  forced  them- 
selves less  boldly  upon  one.  Here  one  discussed  phi- 
losophies, inventions,  history,  perhaps,  and  the  arts ;  sel- 
dom the  fashions,  and  as  seldom  the  on  dits. 

The  Nestor  of  that  circle  in  the  fifties  was  quaint  old 
Roger  B.  Taney  (pronounced  Tawney),  who,  after  various 
political  disappointments,  including  a  refusal  by  the 
Senate  to  confirm  his  appointment  as  a  member  of  the 

73 


74  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Cabinet,  had  received  his  appointment  to  the  Supreme 
Court  bench  in  1836.  Upon  the  death  of  Chief  Justice 
Marshall,  Judge  Taney  became  the  head  of  the  Supreme 
Court  body;  thus,  for  more  than  thirty  years,  he  had 
been  a  prominent  personage  in  the  country's  legal  circles 
and  a  conspicuous  resident  in  Washington.  He  was  an 
extremely  plain-looking  man,  with  frail  body,  which  once 
rose  tall  and  erect,  but  now  was  so  bent  that  one  always 
thought  of  him  as  small,  and  with  a  head  which  made  me 
think  of  a  withered  nut.  Swarthy  of  skin,  but  grey- 
haired,  Judge  Taney  was  a  veritable  skeleton,  "all  mind 
and  no  body";  yet  his  opinion  settled  questions  that 
agitated  the  nation,  and  his  contemporaries  agreed  he 
was  the  ablest  man  who  had  ever  sat  upon  the  Supreme 
Court  bench.  Judge  Taney's  daughters,  gifted  and  bril- 
liant women,  were  seldom  seen  in  society,  but  from  choice 
or  necessity  chose  bread-winning  careers.  They  were 
great  draughtswomen  and  made  coloured  maps,  for 
which,  in  those  days  of  expanding  territory,  there  was  a 
great  and  constant  need. 

Of  Chief  Justice  Taney's  associates,  Judges  Catron  and 
John  A.  Campbell  became  best  known  to  Senator  Clay  and 
myself.  These,  and  other  statesmen  equally  distinguished 
and  later  to  be  mentioned,  having  been  the  friends  of 
ex-Governor  (then  Senator)  C.  C.  Clay,  Sr.,  my  husband 
had  been  known  to  them  from  the  days  when,  as  a  school- 
boy, he  had  visited  his  parents  in  the  Federal  City.  Mrs. 
Judge  Catron,  whom  I  met  soon  after  my  arrival  in  Wash- 
ington, was  a  woman  of  great  elegance  of  manner  and 
dress,  and  always  brought  to  my  mind  the  thought  of  a 
dowager  Duchess.  An  associate  of  my  husband's  mother, 
and  a  native  of  gay  Nashville,  Mrs.  Catron  had  been  a 
social  queen  in  Washington  in  the  late  thirties,  and  her 
position  of  interest  was  still  preserved  in  1855. 

Judge  and  Mrs.  Campbell,  being  rich  beyond  many 
others,    their   home   was   widely   known   for   sumptuous 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  75 

entertaining  as  well  as  for  its  intellectual  atmosphere. 
Sharing  to  an  extent  the  public  favour,  Judge  Campbell, 
Reverdy  Johnson,  and  Robt.  J.  Walker  were  the  three 
legal  giants  of  their  day.  Judge  Campbell's  clients  were 
among  the  weathiest  in  the  country,  and  his  fees  were  said 
to  be  enormous.  Had  not  the  war  ensued,  undoubtedly 
he  would  have  been  appointed  to  the  Chief  Justiceship, 
as  was  commonly  predicted  for  him.  He  was  a  man  of 
great  penetration  and  erudition,  and  was  held  in  high 
esteem  by  everyone  in  the  capital.  In  1861  he  cast  his 
lot  with  the  people  of  the  South,  among  whom  he  was 
born,  and  went  out  of  the  Federal  City  to  meet  what- 
soever fate  the  future  held.  Judge  Campbell  became 
the  earnest  adviser  of  Mr.  Davis,  and  was  a  Commissioner 
of  the  Confederate  Government,  together  with  Alexander 
H.  Stephens  and  R.  M.  T.  Hunter,  when  the  three  con- 
ferred with  Mr.  Seward,  acting  as  delegate  from  the 
Northern  President,  Lincoln.  Nor  did  the  ensuing  years 
diminish  the  great  regard  of  great  men  for  our  beloved 
Southern  scholar.*  Writing  to  Judge  Campbell  from 
Washington  on  December  10,  1884,  Thomas  F.  Bayard 
thus  reveals  the  exalted  regard  which  the  former  sus- 
tained to  the  close  of  a  long  life : 

"Mr.  Lamar,  now  Associate  Judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  concurs  with  me,"  he  wrote,  "in  considering  it 
highly  important  that  your  counsel  and  opinions  should 
be  freely  given  to  Mr.  Cleveland  at  this  important  junc- 
ture, and  respectfully  and  earnestly  I  trust  you  will 
concur  in  our  judgment  in  the  matter.  Mr.  Cleveland 
will  resign  from  his  present  office  early  in  January,  but 

*  Wrote  *-,he  Assistant  Attorney-General,  William  A.  Maury,  in 
1885,  to  Judge  Campbell:  "I  called  on  the  President  in  company  with 
Judge  Gilbert  and  Mr.  Corcoran,  and,  a  most  fitting  opportunity  hav- 
ing occurred  in  the  course  of  our  talk,  I  pleased  the  President  greatly 
by  telling  him  you  said  he  was  the  biggest  man  who  had  been  in  the 
White  House  since  you  were  a  child !  Which  Mr.  Corcoran  supple- 
mented by  saying,  'And  Judge  Campbell  is  a  man  who  means  what 
he  says!'" 


76  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

can  easily  and  conveniently  receive  you  for  the  purpose 
suggested  in  the  interview. ' '  * 

In  those  days  of  Washington's  splendour,  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell and  her  daughter  Henrietta  were  no  less  distin- 
guished for  their  culture,  intellectuality,  and  exclusive- 
ness.  Mrs.  Campbell  was  the  first  Southern  woman 
to  adopt  the  English  custom  of  designating  her  coloured 
servant  as  "my  man."  At  the  home  of  the  Campbells 
one  met  not  only  the  legal  lights  of  Washington,  but 
scientists  and  travellers,  as  if  law  and  the  sciences  were 
drawn  near  to  each  other  by  natural  selection.  Professor 
Henry,  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  this  home,  as  was  also  Professor  Maury,  the 
grand  road-master  of  the  ocean,  who,  by  the  distribution 
of  his  buoys,  made  a  track  in  the  billows  of  the  Atlantic 
for  the  safe  passing  of  ships. 

I  remember  an  amusing  visit  paid  by  a  party  from  our 
mess  to  the  observatory  of  Professor  Maury.  It  was 
an  occasion  of  special  interest.  Jupiter  was  displaying 
his  brilliancy  in  a  marvellous  way.  For  no  particular 
reason,  in  so  far  as  I  could  see,  the  Professor's  great 
telescope  seemed  to  require  adjusting  for  the  benefit  of 
each  of  the  bevy  present.  I  noticed  Professor  Maury's 
eye  twinkling  as  he  went  on  with  this  necessary  (?)  pre- 
liminary, asking,  betimes :  "What  do  you  see?  Nothing 
clearly?  Well,  permit  me!"  And  after  several  experi- 
ments he  would  secure,  at  last,  the  right  focus.  When 
all  of  his  guests  had  been  treated  to  a  satisfactory  view 
of  the  wonders  of  the  sky,  Professor  Maury  delivered 
himself  somewhat  as  follows: 

"Now,  ladies,  whilst  you  have  been  studying  the 
heavenly  bodies,  I  have  been  studying  you!"  and  the 
quizzical  expression  deepened  in  his  eye. 

"Go  on,"  we  assented. 

*  Held  between  Messrs.  Cleveland,  President-elect,  and  Bayard  in 
the  official  residence,  which  is  segregated  from  the  Capitol. 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  77 

''Well,"  said  the  Professor,  "I  have  a  bill  before 
Congress,"  (mentioning  its  nature)  "and  if  you  ladies 
don't  influence  your  husbands  to  vote  for  it,  I  intend 
to  publish  the  ages  of  each  and  every  one  of  you  to  the  whole 
of  Washington!''' 

Remembering  the  mutability  of  political  life,  it  was 
and  remains  a  source  of  astonishment  to  me  that  in  the 
Government  circles  of  the  fifties  were  comprised  so 
many  distinguished  men  who  had  retained  their  positions 
in  the  political  foreground  for  so  many  years;  years, 
moreover,  in  which  an  expanding  territory  was  causing 
the  envy  for  office  to  spread,  infecting  the  ignorant  as 
well  as  the  wise,  and  causing  contestants  to  multiply  in 
number  and  their  passions  to  increase  in  violence  at  each 
election. 

When  Senator  Clay  and  I  took  up  our  residence  in 
the  Federal  City,  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  great 
statesmen  who  had  dwelt  almost  continuously  in 
Washington  for  nearly  twoscore  years.  Writing  of  these 
to  Governor  Clay,  in  1858,  my  husband  said  "Mr.  Bu- 
chanan looks  as  ruddy  as  ever;  General  Cass  as  young 
and  vigorous  as  in  1844,  and  Mr.  Dickens  *  appears  as 
he  did  in  1834,  when  with  you  I  was  at  his  home  at  an 
evening  party!"  Thomas  Hart  Benton,  the  great 
Missourian,  who  for  seven  long  years  struggled  against 
such  allied  competitors  as  Senators  Henry  Clay,  Calhoun, 
and  Webster,  in  his  fight  against  the  Bank  of  the  United 
States,  probably  out-ranked  all  others  in  length  of  public 
service ;  but,  besides  Mr.  Benton,  there  were  Chief  Justice 
Taney  and  his  associates,  Judges  Catron,  James  M. 
Wayne,  and  John  McLean,  of  Ohio;  Senator  Crittenden, 
of  Kentucky,  and  General  George  Wallace  Jones — all 
men  who  had  entered  political  life  when  the  century  was 
young. 

Among  my  pleasantest  memories  of  Washington  are 

*  Asbury  Dickens,  Clerk  of  the  Senate. 


78  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  evenings  spent  at  the  home  of  Mr.  Benton.  His 
household,  but  recently  bereft  of  its  mistress,  who  had 
been  a  long-time  invalid,  was  presided  over  by  his  daugh- 
ters, Mrs.  General  Fremont,  Mrs.  Thomas  Benton  Jones, 
and  Mme.  Boileau.  The  last-named  shared,  with  the 
Misses  Bayard  and  Maury,  a  reputation  for  superior 
elegance  among  the  young  women  of  the  capital.  The 
daughters  of  Mr.  Benton  had  been  splendidly  educated, 
it  was  said,  by  their  distinguished  father,  and  they  repaid 
his  care  of  them  by  a  lifelong  adoration.  A  handsome 
man  in  ordinary  attire,  the  great  old  author  and  states- 
man was  yet  a  more  striking  figure  when  mounted.  He 
rode  with  a  stately  dignity,  quite  unlike  the  pace  indulged 
in  by  some  other  equestrians  of  that  city  and  day;  a 
day,  it  may  be  said  in  passing,  when  equestrianism  was 
common.  Mr.  Benton's  appearance  and  the  slow  gait 
of  his  horse  impressed  me  as  powerful  and  even  majestic, 
and  often  (as  I  remarked  to  him  at  dinner  one  evening) 
there  flashed  through  my  mind,  as  I  saw  him,  a  remem- 
brance of  Byron's  Moorish  King  as  he  rode  benignly 
through  the  streets  of  Granada.  He  seemed  gratified  at 
my  comparison. 

"I'm  glad  you  approve  of  my  pace,"  he  said.  "I 
ride  slowly  because  I  do  not  wish  to  be  confounded  with 
post-boys  and  messengers  sent  in  haste  for  the  surgeon. 
They  may  gallop  if  they  will,  but  not  Senators." 

At  his  own  table  Mr.  Benton  was  an  oracle  to  whom 
everyone  listened  eagerly.  I  have  seen  twenty  guests 
held  spellbound  as  he  recited,  with  thrilling  realism, 
a  history  of  the  Clay-Randolph  duel,  with  the  details 
of  which  he  was  so  familiarly  acquainted.  I  never 
heard  him  allude  to  his  great  fight  in  the  Senate, 
when,  the  galleries  crowded  with  men  inimical  to  him, 
his  wife  and  General  Jones  sent  out  for  arms  to  protect 
the  fearless  Senator  from  the  onslaught  which  seemed 
impending;  nor  to  his  nearly  thirty  years'  strife  for  the 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  79 

removal  of  the  onerous  Salt  Tax ;  but  the  dinners  before 
which  his  guests  sat  down  were  flavoured  with  the  finest 
of  Attic  salt,  of  which  he  was  a  connoisseur,  which  served 
to  sting  into  increased  eagerness  our  interest  in  his  rich 
store  of  recollections. 

Wherever  Mr.  Benton  was  seen  he  was  a  marked  per- 
sonage. There  was  something  of  distinction  in  the  very 
manner  in  which  he  wore  his  cravat,  and  when  he  spoke, 
men  listened  instinctively.  Of  his  daughters,  Mrs. 
Fremont  was  probably  the  most  gifted,  and  Mme.  Boileau 
the  most  devoted  to  fashionable  society.  Mme.  Boileau 
was  the  wife  of  a  French  attache,  and  was  remarked  as 
she  drove  about  in  the  streets  with  a  be-ribboned  spaniel 
upon  the  front  seat  of  her  calash.  Many  years  after  my 
acquaintance  in  Washington  with  Mr.  Benton's  family 
(it  was  during  the  Cleveland  Administration),  I  was 
present  at  a  reception  given  by  Mrs.  Endicott  when  I 
observed  among  the  guests  a  very  busy  little  woman, 
in  simple  black  apparel,  whose  face  was  familiar  to  me, 
but  whom  I  found  myself  unable  to  place ;  yet  everyone 
seemed  to  know  her.  I  heard  her  address  several  foreign- 
ers, in  each  case  employing  the  language  of  his  country, 
and,  my  curiosity  increasing,  I  asked  at  last,  "  Who  is 
that   small  lady  in  black?" 

To  my  surprise,  she  proved  to  be  Mrs.  Fremont ! 

I  soon  made  my  way  to  her.  She  seemed  almost 
impatient  as  I  said,  "Mrs.  Fremont,  I  can  never 
forget  you,  nor  the  charming  evenings  at  your  father's 
house,  though  you,  I  am  sure,  have  forgotten  me!" 
She  looked  at  me  searchingly  and  then  spoke,  im- 
petuously : 

"  Yes !  yes !  I  remember  your  face  perfectly,  but 
your  name — Tell  me  who  you  are,  quick.  Don't  keep 
me  waiting  ! "  I  promptly  gratified  her,  and  in  the  con- 
versation that  followed,  I  added  some  reference  to  her 
father's  great  book,  "Thirty  Years'  View,"  which,  until 


8o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  destruction  of  my  home  during  the  Civil  War,  had 
formed  two  of  our  most  valued  volumes. 

"Ah!"  cried  Mrs.  Fremont.  "You  are  a  woman  of 
penetration  !  I  have  always  said  my  father's  book  is  the 
Political  Bible  of  America.     I  know  it  will  not  perish!" 

I  have  referred  to  General  George  Wallace  Jones. 
No  memory  of  ante-bellum  Washington  and  its  moving 
personages  would  be  complete  were  he,  the  pet  of  women 
and  the  idol  of  men,  left  out.  He  was  born  in  1804, 
when  the  Union  was  young ;  and  adventure  and  patriotism, 
then  sweeping  over  our  country,  were  blended  in  him. 
As  a  child  he  came  out  of  the  young  West,  still  a  wilder- 
ness, to  be  educated  in  Kentucky.  He  had  been  a  ser- 
geant of  the  body-guard  of  General  Jackson,  and  to  the 
Marquis  de  la  Fayette  upon  the  latter's  last  visit  to  the 
United  States  in  1824.  Thereafter  he  figured  in  the 
Black  Hawk  War  as  aid  to  General  Dodge.  His  life  was 
a  continual  panorama  of  strange  events.  In  the  Great 
Indian  War  he  became  a  Major-General;  then  a  County 
Judge;  and  appeared  at  the  capital  as  delegate  from  the 
Territory  of  Michigan  early  in  1835.  General  Jones's 
personal  activity  becoming  known  to  the  Government, 
he  was  made  Surveyor-General  of  the  Northwest.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  he,  being  on  the  Senate  floor, 
sprang  to  the  side  of  Mr.  Benton  while  the  gallery  hummed 
ominously  with  the  angry  threats  of  the  friends  of  the 
Bank  defenders,  and  personal  violence  seemed  unavoid- 
able. I  never  knew  how  many  of  the  Western  States 
were  laid  out  by  General  Jones,  but  they  were  numerous. 
In  his  work  of  surveying  he  was  accompanied  by  young 
military  men,  many  of  whom  played  conspicuous  parts 
in  the  history  of  the  country,  at  that  time  but  half  of 
its  present  size.  Among  these  was  Jefferson  Davis,  then 
a  civil  engineer. 

General  Jones  was  indefatigable  in  his  attendance 
at  social  gatherings,  and  continued  to  out-dance  young 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  81 

men,  even  when  threescore  rich  years  were  his.  He  had 
been  a  great  favourite  with  my  husband's  parents  during 
their  Congressional  life,  so  great  indeed  that  father's 
message  of  introduction  spoke  of  him  as  "My  son!" 
and  his  fraternal  offices  to  us  are  among  the  brightest 
memories  I  hold  of  life  at  the  capital.  The  General 
was  a  small,  wiry  man,  renowned  for  his  long  black  hair, 
glossy  and  well-kept  as  was  any  belle's,  and  which  seemed 
even  to  a  very  late  period  to  defy  time  to  change  it.  In 
society  he  was  sprightly  as  a  kitten,  and  at  seventy-five 
would  poke  his  glistening  black  head  at  me,  declaring 
as  he  did  so,  "I'll  give  you  anything  you  ask,  from  a 
horse  to  a  kiss,  if  you  can  find  one  grey  hair  among  the 
black!" 

General  Jones  died  in  the  West,  just  before  the  close 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  to  the  end  he  was  gay 
and  brave,  and  elastic  in  body  and  mind.  So  indomitable 
was  his  spirit  even  in  those  closing  days,  that  he  revived 
a  memory  of  the  war  days  in  the  following  spirited  letter 
written  in  1894,  just  after  the  celebration  of  his  ninetieth 
birthday.  At  this  time  he  was  made  King  of  the  Carnival, 
was  complimented  by  the  Governor  of  Iowa,  "the 
two  branches  of  the  General  Assembly,  and  "by  the 
Supreme  Court,  they,  too,  being  Republicans  and  total 
strangers  to  me  save  one  Republican  Senator  and  one 
Democratic  representative  from  this  County,"  as  his  gay 
account  of  the  episode  ran. 

"I  told  several  times,"  he  added,  "of  how  you  and 
dear  Mrs.  Bouligny  prevented  me  from  killing  Seward. 
It  was  the  day  you  stopped  me,  as  you  sat  in  your  car- 
riage in  front  of  Corcoran  &  Riggs's  bank,  and  I  was 
about  to  pass  you.  I  would  certainly  have  killed  Seward 
with  my  sword-cane  but  that  you  stopped  me.  I  was 
about  to  follow  the  Secretary  as  he  passed  the  bank 
door,  between  his  son  Frederick  and  some  other  men.  I 
would  have  run  my  sword  through  him  and  immediately 


82  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

have  been  cut  into  mince-meat  by  the  hundreds  of 
negro  guards  who  stood  all  round.  Do  you  recollect 
that  fearful  incident?  God  sent  two  guardian  angels  to 
save  my  life.  How  can  I  feel  otherwise  than  grateful 
to  you  for  saving  me  that  day  ! ' ' 

The  recalling  of  this  pioneer-surveyor  of  the  great 
Western  wilderness  revives,  too,  the  name  of  as  notable 
a  character  in  the  Southwest,  and  one  who  will  always 
be  identified  with  the  introduction  of  cotton  in  the 
Southern  States,  and  the  land-grants  of  the  territory  of 
Louisiana.  I  never  met  Daniel  Clarke,  but  very  early 
in  my  married  life,  and  some  years  before  I  went  to  the 
capital  to  reside,  I  became  acquainted  with  that  re- 
markable woman,  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Myra  Clarke  Gaines. 

I  had  accompanied  my  husband  to  New  Orleans,  where 
we  stopped  at  the  St.  Charles  Hotel,  then  two  steps  or 
more  above  the  ground  level,  though  it  settled,  as  all 
New  Orleans  buildings  do  sooner  or  later,  owing  to  the 
moist  soil. 

The  evening  of  our  arrival  we  were  seated  in  the 
dining-room  when  my  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
entrance  of  a  very  unusual  couple.  The  man  was  well- 
advanced  in  years,  but  bore  himself  with  a  dignified  and 
military  air  that  made  him  at  once  conspicuous.  There 
was  a  marked  disparity  between  this  tall,  commanding 
soldier  and  the  very  small  young  woman  who  hung 
upon  his  arm  "like  a  reticule  or  a  knitting-pocket,"  as 
I  remarked  sotto  voce  to  Mr.  Clay.  Her  hair  was 
bright,  glistening  chestnut,  her  colour  very  fresh  and  rich, 
and  her  golden-hazel  eyes  glowed  like  young  suns.  These 
orbs  were  singularly  searching,  and  seemed  to  gauge  every- 
one at  a  glance.  Mr.  Clay,  having  already  an  acquaintance 
with  General  Gaines,  in  a  few  moments  I  was  presented 
to  the  (even  then)  much-talked-of  daughter  of  General 
Clarke. 

Never    did    woman    exhibit    more    wifely    solicitude. 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  83 

From  the  beginning  of  that  dinner  Mrs.  Gaines  became 
the  General's  guardian.  She  arranged  his  napkin, 
tucking  it  carefully  into  the  V  of  his  waistcoat,  read 
the  menu  and  selected  his  food,  waiting  upon  him  as 
each  course  arrived,  and  herself  preparing  the  dressing 
for  his  salad.  All  was  done  in  so  matter-of-fact  and 
quiet  a  manner  that  the  flow  of  General  Gaines's 
discourse  was  not  once  interrupted.  Though  I  met  this 
interesting  woman  a  number  of  times  in  later  years,  in 
Washington  and  elsewhere,  that  first  picture  of  Mrs. 
Gaines,  probably  the  bravest  woman,  morally,  of  her 
time,  has  remained  most  vividly.  When,  as  a  widow, 
accompanied  by  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Gaines  visited 
Washington,  she  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  in 
every  assemblage  in  which  she  was  seen.  Her  fearless 
pleading  in  the  Supreme  Court  was  the  theme  of  con- 
versation the  country  over.  People  thronged  to  see 
a  woman  whose  courage  was  so  indomitable,  and  none 
but  were  surprised  at  the  diminutive  and  modest  heroine. 
Senator  Crittenden,  of  Kentucky,  was  already  a  Solon 
in  the  counsels  of  the  Nation,  when,  in  1841,  Senator 
C.  C.  Clay,  Sr.,  left  the  Senate.  A  major  in  the  army 
in  1 81 2,  Air.  Crittenden  had  made  his  appearance  in 
Congress  in  181 7,  and  thereafter  continued  prominent  in 
Washington  life,  as  Senator  or  Cabinet  member  (in  the 
Cabinets  of  Presidents  Harrison  and  Fillmore),  so  that 
for  thirty  or  more  years  his  name  had  been  associated 
with  the  names  of  our  great  law-makers,  especially  with 
those  of  the  second  quarter  of  the  century.  When  I 
met  Senator  Crittenden  in  the  middle  fifties,  he  was  a 
carefully  preserved  gentleman  of  courtly  and  genial 
manners.  Besides  the  brilliancy  that  attached  to  his 
long  career  in  Congressional  life,  he  was  distinguished  as 
the  husband  of  a  still  charming  woman,  whose  proud 
boast  it  was  that  she  was  perfectly  happy.  This  declara- 
tion alone  was  enough  to  make  any  woman  in  society 


84  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

remarkable;  yet,  to  judge  from  her  serene  and  smiling 
appearance,  Mrs.  Crittenden  did  not  exaggerate  her 
felicity.  She  was  a  sweet  type  of  the  elderly  fashionable 
woman,  her  face  reflecting  the  utmost  kindness,  her 
corsage  and  silvery  hair  gleaming  with  brilliants,  her 
silken  petticoats  rustling  musically,  and,  over  the  lustrous 
folds  of  her  rich  and  by  no  means  sombre  costumes, 
priceless  lace  fell  prodigally. 

Nor  were  there  lacking  notes  and  even  whole  gowns  of 
warm  colour  significant  of  the  lady's  persistent  cheeriness. 
I  remember  my  cousin,  Miss  Comer,  a  debutante  of  seven- 
teen at  that  time,  remarking  upon  Mrs.  Crittenden's 
dress  one  evening  at  a  ball. 

"  It's  exactly  like  mine,  cousin !"  she  said,  not  without 
a  pout  of  disappointment.  And  so,  in  truth,  it  was,  both 
being  of  bright,  cherry  corded  silk,  the  only  difference 
between  them  being  that  the  modest  round-necked 
bodice  of  my  little  cousin  by  no  means  could  compete 
with  the  noble  decollete  of  the  older  lady.  But,  in  justice 
to  the  most  estimable  Mrs.  Crittenden,  it  must  be  added 
that  her  neck  and  shoulders  were  superbly  moulded,  and, 
even  in  middle  age,  excited  the  envy  of  her  less  fortunate 
sisters. 

"Lady"  Crittenden,  as  she  was  often  called,  accounted 
for  her  contentment  in  this  wise:  "  I  have  been  married 
three  times,  and  in  each  alliance  I  have  got  just  what  I 
wanted.  My  first  marriage  was  for  love,  and  it  was 
mine  as  fully  as  I  could  wish ;  my  second  for  money,  and 
Heaven  was  as  good  to  me  in  this  instance ;  my  third  was 
for  position,  and  that,  too,  is  mine.  What  more  could 
I  ask?" 

What  more,  indeed ! 

One  met  dear  old  Mrs.  Crittenden  everywhere.  She 
was  of  the  most  social  disposition,  a  fact  which  sometimes 
aroused  the  good-natured  irony  of  her  distinguished 
husband.     I  remember  an  instance  in  which  this  was 


MRS.    J.    J.    CRITTENDEN 
of  Kentucky 


SOLONS  OF  THE  CAPITAL  85 

demonstrated,  at  the  White  House,  which  greatly  amused 
me  at  the  time.  It  was  at  a  dinner  party,  and  Senator 
Crittenden,  who  boasted  that  he  had  eaten  at  the  White 
House  table  with  every  President  since  the  days  of 
Monroe,  assumed  the  blase  air  which  everyone  who  knew 
him  recognised  as  a  conscious  affectation. 

"Now  there's  'Lady'  Crittenden,"  he  began,  nodding 
in  the  direction  of  that  smiling  personage,  "in  all  the 
glory  of  a  new  and  becoming  gown,  and  perfectly  happy 
in  the  glamour  of  this."  And  he  waved  his  hand  about 
the  room  with  an  air  of  fatigue  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
comprehensiveness  that  swept  in  every  member,  grave 
or  giddy,  in  the  large  assemblage.  "If  I  had  my  way," 
and  he  sighed  as  he  said  it,  "nothing  would  give  me 
greater  pleasure  than  to  hie  me  back  to  the  wilds  of 
dear  old  Kentucky !  Ah !  to  don  my  buckskins  once 
more,  shoulder  a  rifle,  and  wander  through  life  a  free 
man,  away  from  all  this  flummery  ! " 

He  sighed  again  (for  the  tangled  woods  ?)  as  he  detected 
a  speck  upon  his  faultless  sleeve  and  fastidiously  brushed 
it  off ! 

"Pshaw!  Stuff  and  nonsense,  Senator!"  I  retorted, 
rallying  him  heartlessly.  "  Fancy  your  being  condemned 
to  that !  You  wouldn't  stand  it  two  days,  unless  an 
election  were  in  progress  and  there  were  country  con- 
stituents to  interview.  Everyone  knows  you  are  as  fond  of 
fat  plums  and  plump  capons,  both  real  and  metaphorical, 
as  any  man  in  the  capital !  As  for  society  being  dis- 
agreeable to  you,  with  a  good  dinner  in  view  and  pretty 
women  about  you — Fie,  Senator  !  I  don't  believe  you  !" 
Whereat  our  Solon  laughed  guiltily,  like  one  whose  pet 
pretense  has  been  discovered,  and  entered  forthwith  into 
the  evening's  pleasures  as  heartily  as  did  his  spouse,  the 
perfectly  happy  "Lady"  Crittenden. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Fashions  of  the  Fifties 

To  estimate  at  anything  like  their  value  ante-bellum 
days  at  the  capital,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
period  was  one  of  general  prosperity  and  competitive 
expenditure.  While  a  life-and-death  struggle  raged 
between  political  parties,  and  oratorical  battles  of 
ominous  import  were  fought  daily  in  Senate  Chamber 
and  House,  a  very  reckless  gaiety  was  everywhere  ap- 
parent in  social  circles.  Especially  was  this  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  predominant  and  hospitable  Southern 
division  in  the  capital;  for  predominant  Southern 
society  was,  as  even  such  deliberately  partisan  historians 
as  Messrs.  Nicolay  and  Hay  admit;  and,  what  these 
gentlemen  designate  as  "the  blandishments  of  Southern 
hospitality,"  lent  a  charm  to  life  in  the  Government 
circles  of  that  day  which  lifted  the  capital  to  the  very 
apex  of  its  social  glory.  Writing  of  these  phases  of  life 
in  the  capital,  in  a  letter  dated  March,  1858,  I  said  to 
Governor  Clay:  "People  are  mad  with  rivalry  and 
vanity.  It  is  said  that  Gwin  is  spending  money  at  the 
rate  of  $75,000  a  year,  and  Brown  and  Thompson  quite 
the  same.  Mrs.  Thompson  (of  Mississippi)  is  a  great 
favourite  here.  Mrs.  Toombs,  who  is  sober,  and  has  but 
one  daughter,  Sally,  who  is  quite  a  belle,  says  they  spend 
$1,800  per  month,  or  $21,000  per  annum.  " 

The  four  years'  war,  which  began  in  '61,  changed 
these  social  conditions.  As  the  result  of  that  strife 
poverty  spread  both  North  and  South.  The  social 
world  at  Washington,  which  but  an  administration  before 

86 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  87 

had  been  scarcely  less  fascinating  and  brilliant  than  the 
Court  of  Louis  Napoleon,  underwent  a  radical  change; 
and  the  White  House  itself,  within  a  month  after  it  went 
into  the  hands  of  the  new  Black  Republican  party, 
became  degraded  to  a  point  where  even  Northern  men 
recoiled  at  the  sight  of  the  metamorphosed  conditions.* 

In  the  days  of  Presidents  Pierce  and  Buchanan, 
Washington  was  a  city  of  statesmen,  and  in  the  fore- 
ground, relieving  the  solemnity  of  their  deliberations  in 
that  decade  which  preceded  the  Nation's  great  disaster, 
were  fashion  and  mirth,  beauty  and  wit.  It  was  then, 
as  the  government  city  of  a  Republic  must  ever  be,  a 
place  of  continuous  novelty,  of  perpetual  changes,  of  new 
faces.  The  fashionable  world  comes  and  goes  in  the 
Federal  City  with  each  Presidential  term  of  four  and 
Senatorial  term  of  six  years,  and  its  longer  or  shorter 
stays  of  the  army  and  navy  contingent,  and  always  it 
gathers  its  personnel  from  as  many  points  as  there  are 
States  in  the  Union,  and  as  many  parts  of  the  world  as 
those  to  which  our  diplomatic  relations  extend. 

In  the  fifties,  when  the  number  of  States  was  but  two 
dozen,  the  list  of  representatives  gathering  at  the  capital 
was  proportionately  smaller  than  in  the  present  day,  and 
society  was  correspondingly  select.  Moreover,  political 
distinction  and  offices  not  infrequently  continued  in 
many  families  through  several  generations,  sons  often 
succeeding  their  fathers  in  Congress,  inheriting,  in  some 
degree,  their  ancestors'  friends,  until  a  social  security 
had    been    established    which    greatly    assisted    to    give 

*  In  a  letter  dated  New  York,  April  6,  1861,  a  correspondent,  the 
intimate  associate  of  James  Gordon  Bennett,  wrote  as  follows:  "I  have 
been  in  Washington  twice  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  I 
can  say  truthfully,  that  .  .  .  the  ensemble  of  the  personnel  of  the 
White  House  has  sadly  changed,  more  befitting  a  restaurant  than  the 
House  of  the  President.  They  tell  me  many  droll  stories  of  them,  and 
all  are  deservedly  rich.  'Old  Abe'  tells  stories  and  Mrs.  Lincoln  sim- 
pers. They  keep  a  household  of  those  horrid  .  .  .  people  with 
them  all  the  time,  mais  asscz!  " 


88  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

charm  and  prestige  to  the  fashionable  coteries  of  the 
Federal  centre.  For  example,  for  forty  years  previous 
to  my  husband's  election  to  the  Senate,  the  two  branches 
of  the  Clay  family  had  been  prominent  in  the  life  of  the 
capital.  In  the  late  twenties,  C.  C.  Clay,  Sr.,  had  been 
active  in  the  House,  while  the  great  Henry  Clay  was 
stirring  the  country  through  his  speeches  in  the  Senate; 
in  the  fifties,  Mr.  James  B.  Clay,  son  of  the  great  Ken- 
tuckian,  was  a  Congressman  when  the  scholarly  states- 
manship of  Senator  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr.,  of  Alabama,  was 
attracting  the  admiration  and  praise  of  North  and  South 
alike.  It  is  a  pathetic  coincidence  that  to  my  husband, 
during  his  sojourn  in  Canada,  fell  the  sad  privilege  of 
ministering  at  the  death-bed  of  Mr.  Clay,  of  Kentucky, 
who  died  in  that  alien  land  without  the  solacing  presence 
of  wife  or  children.  Shortly  before  the  end  came,  he 
presented  to  Senator  Clay  the  cane  which  for  years 
had  been  carried  by  the  great  orator,  Henry  Clay.* 

The  fashions  of  the  times  were  graceful,  rich  and 
picturesque.  Those  of  the  next  decade,  conspicuous 
for  huge  chignons,  false  hair,  and  distorting  bustles,  rose 
like  an  ugly  barrier  between  the  lovely  costuming  of  the 
fifties  and  the  dressing  of  to-day.  A  half-century  ago, 
the  beauties  of  the  capital  wore  their  hair  a  la  Grecque, 
with  flowers  wreathed  over  it,  or  a  simple  golden  dagger 
or  arrow  to  secure  it.  Their  gowns  were  festooned  with 
blossoms  that  trailed  over  bodice  and  skirt  until  not 
seldom  they  became,  by  reason  of  their  graceful  orna- 

*  Some  time  after  Clement  C.  Clay's  return  to  the  Confederate  States, 
this  cane  was  purloined  by  some  unknown  person.  Years  passed; 
one  day  Mr.  Clay  received  an  inquiry  as  to  whether  he  had  ever  owned 
a  cane  on  which  his  name  appeared  below  that  of  the  Kentucky  Sena- 
tor's; the  writer  explained  that  he  wished  to  know  its  history  and  to 
return  the  cane  to  its  rightful  owner.  Eager  for  the  recovery  of  his 
valued  souvenir,  Mr.  Clay  responded;  but  his  unknown  correspondent, 
having  gained  the  information  he  sought,  lapsed  into  silence.  Said 
Mrs.  Clay,  in  relating  this  incident,  "And  we  never  heard  more  of  the 
cane !"     A.  S. 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  89 

ments,  veritable  Perditas.  These  delicate  fashions  con- 
tinued until  nearly  the  end  of  the  decade,  when  they 
were  superseded  by  more  complicated  coiffures  and  a 
general  adoption  of  heavy  materials  and  styles. 

In  185 8-' 5 9  the  hair  was  arranged  on  the  top  of  the 
head  in  heavy  braids  wound  like  a  coronet  over  the  head, 
and  the  coiffure  was  varied  now  and  then  with  a  tiara  of 
velvet  and  pearls,  or  jet  or  coral.  Ruffled  dresses  gave 
place  to  panelled  skirts  in  which  two  materials,  a  plain 
and  embossed  or  brocaded  fabric,  were  combined,  and 
basques  with  postillion  backs  became  the  order  of  the 
day.  The  low-coiled  hair  and  brow  free  from  frizzes 
and  bangs  (a  Vidiote,  as  our  satirical  friends,  the  French, 
describe  them)  was  the  style  adopted  by  such  pre- 
eminent beauties  as  Mrs.  Senator  Pugh,  who  was  regarded 
by  Baron  Hulseman  as  without  a  peer,  and  Mrs.  Senator 
Pendleton,  who,  in  Lord  Napier's  opinion,  had  the  most 
classic  head  he  had  seen  in  America. 

Low  necks  and  lace  berthas,  made  fashionable  because 
of  their  adoption  by  Miss  Lane,  were  worn  almost  uni- 
versally, either  with  open  sleeves  revealing  inner  ones  of 
filmy  lace,  or  sleeves  of  the  shortest  possible  form,  allowing 
the  rounded  length  of  a  pretty  arm  to  be  seen  in  its 
perfection.  Evening  gloves  were  half-length  only,  or 
as  often  reaching  only  half-way  to  the  elbow.  They 
were  of  kid  or  silk  with  backs  embroidered  in  delicate 
silks,  with  now  and  then  a  jewel  sparkling  among  the 
colours.  Jewels,  indeed,  were  conspicuous  even  in 
men's  dressing,  and  gentlemen  of  fashion  were  rare  who 
did  not  have  varieties  of  sparkling  studs  and  cravat-pins 
to  add  to  the  brightness  of  their  vari-coloured  vests. 
The  latter  not  infrequently  were  of  richest  satin  and 
velvet,  brocaded  and  embroidered.  They  lent  a  de- 
sirable note  of  colour,  by  no  means  inconspicuous,  to  the 
swallow-tailed  evening  dress  of  that  time,  a  note,  by-the- 
bye,  which  was  supplemented  by  a  tie   of  bright   soft 


9o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

silk,  and  of  ample  proportions.  President  Buchanan 
was  remarkable  for  his  undeviating  choice  of  pure  white 
cravats.  Fashion  was  not  then  arbitrary  in  the  matter 
of  gentlemen's  neckwear,  and  high  or  low  collars  were 
worn,  as  best  suited  the  taste  of  the  individual. 

To  the  attire  of  the  women  of  the  Government  City  in 
that  day  our  home  manufacturers  contributed  but  little. 
In  fact,  the  industries  of  our  country  yielded  but  a 
common  grade  of  materials  designed  for  wearing  apparel, 
and  were  altogether  unequal  to  the  demands  of  a  capital 
in  which  the  wealthy  vied  with  their  own  class  in  foreign 
cities  in  the  acquisition  of  all  that  goes  to  make  up  the 
moods  and  character  of  fashion.  Our  gloves  and  fans 
and  handkerchiefs,  our  bonnets  and  the  larger  part  of 
our  dress  accessories,  as  well  as  such  beautiful  gown 
patterns  as  were  purchased  ready  to  be  made  up  by  a 
New  York  or  Washington  dressmaker,  were  all  imported 
directly  from  foreign  houses,  and  the  services  of  our 
travelling  and  consular  friends  were  in  constant  requisition 
for  the  selection  of  fine  laces,  shawls,  flounces,  under- 
sleeves  and  the  other  fashionable  garnitures.  Scarcely 
a  steamer  but  brought  to  the  capital  dainty  boxes  of 
Parisian  flowers,  bonnets  and  other  foreign  novelties, 
despatched  by  such  interested  deputies. 

It  was  astonishing  how  astute  even  our  bachelor 
representatives  abroad  became  in  the  selection  of  these 
articles  for  the  wives  of  their  Senatorial  indorsers  in 
Washington.  I  was  frequently  indebted  for  such  friendly 
remembrances  to  my  cousin,  Tom  Tait  Tunstall,  Consul 
at  Cadiz,  and  to  Mrs.  Leese,  wife  of  the  Consul  at  Spezia 
and  sister  of  Rose  Kierulf  and  Mrs.  Spicer.  Thanks  to 
the  acumen  of  these  thoughtful  friends,  my  laces,  es- 
pecially, and  a  velvet  gown,  the  material  of  which  was 
woven  to  order  at  Genoa,  were  the  particular  envy  of  my 
less  fortunate  "mess-mates." 

I  remember  with  much  pleasure  the  many  courtesies 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  91 

of  William  Thomson,  Consul  at  Southampton,  England, 
who  was  one  of  the  many  from  whom  the  war  afterward 
separated  us.  From  the  time  of  his  appointment  in 
1857  his  expressions  of  friendliness  were  frequent  toward 
Miss  Lane,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  myself,  and,  I  doubt  not, 
toward  many  other  fortunate  ones  of  the  capital. 

To  the  first  named  he  sent  a  remarkable  toy-terrier, 
so  small  that  "it  might  be  put  under  a  quart  bowl,"  as 
he  wrote  to  me.  The  little  stranger  was  a  nine-days' 
curiosity  at  the  White  House,  where  it  was  exhibited  to 
all  who  were  on  visiting  terms  with  Miss  Lane.  That  I 
was  not  the  recipient  of  a  similar  midget  was  due  to  the 
death  of  "Nettle,"  the  animal  selected  for  me. 

"Please  ask  Miss  Lane,"  he  wrote,  "to  show  you  her 
terrier,  and  you  will  be  sure  it  is  the  identical  'Nettle.' 
I  shall  succeed  in  time  in  finding  a  good  specimen  for 
you!" 

But  Mr.  Thomson's  efforts  and  discrimination  were 
by  no  means  directed  solely  toward  the  selection  of 
canine  rarities.  In  truth,  he  showed  himself  in  every 
way  fitted  to  become  a  most  satisfactory  Benedick 
(which  I  sincerely  hope  was  his  fate  in  the  course  of  time) , 
for,  besides  picking  up  now  and  then  odd  and  choice 
bits  of  quaint  jewelry,  such  as  may  please  a  woman's 
fancy,  and  many  an  interesting  legend  about  which  to 
gossip,  he  discovered  a  power  of  discernment  in  regard 
to  the  wearing  apparel  of  my  sex,  which  was  as  re- 
freshing in  its  epistolary  revelations  as  it  was  rare  among 
his  sex. 

"  I  did  think  of  sending  you  and  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  one  of 
the  new  style  petticoats,"  he  wrote  in  March,  1858,  "so 
novel,  it  seems,  at  the  seat  of  government ;  but,  upon  in- 
quiry for  the  material,  my  bachelor  wits  were  quite  out- 
done, for  I  could  not  even  guess  what  size  might  suit  both 
you  ladies !  Since  sending  a  few  lines  to  you,  I  have 
spent  a  day  at  Brighton,  which  is  in  my  district,  and  I  saw 


92  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

quite  a  new  style  and  decided  improvement  on  the  petticoat. 
A  reversible  crimson  and  black  striped  linsey-wolsey  under 
a  white  cambric  skirt,  with  five,  seven,  or  nine  tucks  of 
handsome  work,  not  less  than  ten  or  twelve  inches  deep. 
This  style  of  new  garment  is  very  distingue  to  my  feeble 
bachelor  eye,  and  would  attract  amazingly  in  Washing- 
ton just  now." 

Among  the  first  to  introduce  in  the  capital  the  fashion 
of  holding  up  the  skirt  to  show  these  ravishing  petti- 
coats were  the  lovely  sisters  of  Thomas  F.  Bayard,  after- 
ward Secretary  of  State  and  Minister  to  England  under 
President  Cleveland,  and  the  Misses  Maury,  daughters 
of  the  ex-Mayor  of  Washington,  all  of  whom  were  con- 
spicuous for  their  Parisian  daintiness.  None  of  this 
bevy  but  looked  as  if  she  might  have  stepped  directly 
from  the  rue  St.  Germain. 

The  bewildering  description  by  Mr.  Thomson  had 
scarcely  arrived,  ere  fashion  was  busy  evolving  other 
petticoat  novelties  and  adjuncts.  A  quaint  dress  ac- 
cessory at  this  time,  and  one  which  remained  very  much 
in  vogue  for  carriage,  walking,  and  dancing  dresses, 
consisted  of  several  little  metal  hands,  which,  depending 
from  fine  chains  attached  at  the  waist,  held  up  the  skirt 
artistically  at  a  sufficient  height  to  show  the  flounces 
beneath.  The  handkerchiefs  of  the  time,  which  were 
appreciably  larger  than  those  in  use  to-day,  and  very 
often  of  costly  point-lace,  were  drawn  through  a  small 
ring  that  hung  from  a  six-inch  gold  or  silver  chain,  on 
the  other  end  of  which  was  a  circlet  which  just  fitted 
over  the  little  finger. 

I  have  spoken  of  our  Washington  dressmakers;  how 
incomplete  would  be  my  memories  of  the  capital  did  I 
fail  to  mention  here  Mrs.  Rich,  the  favourite  mantua- 
maker  of  those  days,  within  whose  power  it  lay  to  trans- 
form provincial  newcomers,  often  already  over-stocked 
with  ill-made  costumes  and  absurdly  trimmed  bonnets, 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  93 

into  women  of  fashion  !  Mrs.  Rich  was  the  only  Recon- 
structionist,  I  think  I  may  safely  say,  on  whom  Southern 
ladies  looked  with  unqualified  approval.  A  Recon- 
structionist ?  She  was  more;  she  was  a  physician  who 
cured  many  ills  for  the  women  of  the  Congressional 
circles,  ills  of  a  kind  that  could  never  be  reached  by  our 
favourite  physician,  Dr.  Johnston,  though  he  had  turned 
surgeon  and  competed  in  a  contest  of  stitches ;  for,  to  the 
care  of  the  wives  of  our  statesmen  each  season,  came 
pretty  heiresses  from  far-off  States,  to  see  the  gay  Govern- 
ment City,  under  their  experienced  guardianship,  and 
to  meet  its  celebrities.  These,  often  mere  buds  of  girls,  were 
wont  to  come  to  the  capital  supplied  with  costly  brocade 
and  heavy  velvet  gowns,  fit  in  quality  for  the  stateliest 
dame ;  with  hats  weighty  with  plumes  that  might  only  be 
worn  appropriately  in  the  helmet  of  a  prince  or  a  Gains- 
borough duchess,  and  with  diamonds  enough  to  please 
the  heart  of  a  matron.  To  strip  these  slim  maidens  of 
such  untoward  finery,  often  of  antediluvian,  not  to  say 
outlandish,  cut  and  fashion,  and  to  reapparel  them  in 
such  soft  fabrics  as  became  their  youth  and  station,  was 
no  small  or  easy  task  for  her  who  had  undertaken  to 
chaperone  them. 

Nor  were  these  sartorial  faux  pas  confined  to  the  girl 
novices  and  their  far-off  kind,  and  usually  lavish  parents. 
Many  a  charming  matron  came  to  the  capital  as  innocent 
of  any  knowledge  of  the  demands  of  fashionable  life  as 
a  schoolgirl.  There  was  the  wife  of  a  distinguished 
legislator  who  afterward  presided  over  an  American 
embassy  abroad,  a  sweet  little  nun  of  a  woman,  who 
arrived  in  Washington  with  a  wardrobe  that  doubtless 
had  caused  her  country  neighbours  many  a  pang  of 
envy.  It  comprised  garments  made  of  the  costliest 
fabrics,  but,  alas  !  which  had  been  cut  up  so  ridiculously 
by  the  local  seamstress  that  the  innocent  wearer's 
first  appearance  in  the  gay  world  of  the  capital  was  the 


94  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

signal  for  irrepressible  smiles  of  amusement  and  simpers 
of  derision  from  the  more  heartless. 

Because  of  a  friendship  between  our  husbands,  our 
little  nun  fell  into  my  hands,  and  I  promptly  convoyed 
her  to  the  crucible  of  Mrs.  Rich,  that  dauntless  spirit, 
and  my  unfailing  resource,  sure  of  her  ability  to  work 
the  necessary  transmutation.  Alas !  as  we  were  about 
to  step  out  of  our  carriage,  I  was  startled  by  the  appear- 
ance, above  a  shapely  enough  foot,  of  a  bright,  yes  !  a 
brilliant  indigo-blue  stocking !  Not  even  Mr.  Shillaber's 
heroine  from  Beanville  could  boast  a  trapping  more 
blatantly  blue !  I  held  my  breath  in  alarm !  What 
if  the  eye  of  any  of  the  more  scornful  fashionables  should 
detect  its  mate?  I  hurried  my  charge  back  into  the 
vehicle  at  once  and  summoned  our  good  friend  Mrs. 
Rich  to  the  door;  and  our  errand  that  morning  was 
accomplished  by  the  aid  of  a  trim  apprentice,  who  brought 
to  our  calash  boxes  of  samples  and  fashion-plates  for  our 
scanning. 

Many,  indeed,  were  the  debtors  to  Mrs.  Rich  in  those 
days,  for  the  taste  and  despatch  with  which  she  performed 
her  incomparable  miracles.  And  I  would  not  refrain 
from  acknowledging  an  act  of  kindness  at  her  hands  in 
darker  days;  for,  when  I  returned  to  Washington  in  1865 
to  plead  with  the  President  for  my  husband's  release 
from  Fortress  Monroe,  she  generously  refused  payment 
for  the  making  of  the  modest  dress  I  ordered,  declaring 
that  she  longed  to  serve  one  who  had  directed  so  many 
clients  to  her  in  former  days  ! 

But  there  were  occasions  when  a  pressure  upon  the 
time  of  Mrs.  Rich  necessitated  the  seeking  of  other 
assistance,  and  a  hasty  journey  was  made  to  Mile.  Roun- 
tree,  of  Philadelphia,  or  even  to  New  York,  where  the 
fashionable  dressmakers  were  capable  of  marvellous 
expedition  in  filling  one's  order  completely,  even  to  the 
furnishing  of  handkerchiefs  and  hosiery  and  slippers  to 


MRS.  CHESTNUT 
"f  South  Carolina 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  95 

suit  a  special  gown.  I  remember  the  arrival  of  some 
wonderful  "creations"  made  in  the  metropolis  for 
Miss  Stevens,  of  Stevens  Castle,  who  was  spending  the 
season  with  my  "mess-mate,"  Mrs.  Chestnut,  and  boxes 
of  gowns  as  admirable,  and  from  the  same  source,  for  the 
lovely  Marian  Ramsey,  who  became  Mrs.  Brockholst 
Cutting,  of  New  York.  Miss  Ramsey,  who  was  an 
especially  admired  belle  in  Washington,  was  the  daughter 
of  that  delightfully  irascible  old  Admiral,  who,  it  was 
said,  was  such  a  disciplinarian  that  he  never  entered 
port  without  having  one  or  more  of  his  crew  in  irons. 

Brilliant  as  was  the  social  life  in  Washington  at  this 
time,  and  remarkable  for  its  numbers  of  handsome  men 
and  lovely  women,  I  remember  no  exquisites  of  the 
Beau  Brummel  or  Disraeli  type,  though  there  were 
many  who  were  distinguished  as  men  of  fashion,  of 
social  graces  and  talent. 

Foremost  among  the  popular  men  of  the  capital  were 
Philip  Barton  Key  (brother  of  the  classic  Mrs.  Pendleton, 
Mrs.  Howard  of  Baltimore,  and  of  Mrs.  Blount,  who 
attained  a  reputation  among  her  contemporaries  upon 
the  stage),  Preston  Brooks,  and  Laurence  Keitt,  members 
of  Congress  from  South  Carolina,  the  last  named  of 
whom  married  the  wealthy  Miss  Sparks.  For  a  long 
time  previous  to  that  alliance,  Mr.  Keitt  and  his  colleague 
from  North  Carolina,  Mr.  Clingman,  were  looked  upon 
as  rival  suitors  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Lane.  Mr.  Keitt 
was  the  friend  of  Preston  Brooks,  who  was  one  of  the 
most  magnetic  and  widely  admired  men  in  the  capital. 
Were  half  of  the  compliments  here  repeated  which 
the  name  alone  of  Mr.  Brooks  at  that  time  elicited,  they 
must  serve  to  modify  the  disfavour  into  which  this 
spirited  young  legislator  from  South  Carolina  fell  after 
his  historic  assault  upon  Mr.  Sumner  in  the  Senate. 
When,  a  few  months  after  that  unfortunate  affair,  the 
body  of  Mr.  Brooks  lay  on  view  in  the  Federal  City, 


96  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

mourning  for  him  became  general,  and  his  obsequies 
were  remarkable  for  the  crowds  that  hastened  to  pay 
their  last  tribute  to  him. 

I  recall  an  amusing  incident  by  which  I  offended 
(happily,  only  momentarily)  our  good  friends  Congress- 
man and  Mrs.  Keitt,  owing  to  a  tendency  I  possessed 
to  indulge  in  nonsense  whenever  furnished  with  the 
slightest  pretext  for  it.  When  the  former  arrived  at  the 
capital,  he  was  commonly  addressed  and  alluded  to  as 
"Kitt,"  a  wholly  unwarrantable  mispronunciation  of 
his  name,  but  one  which  had  become  current  in  the 
vernacular  of  his  State,  and  which,  from  sheer  force  of 
habit,  continued  in  use  in  the  Federal  City.  To  the 
retention  of  this  nickname,  however,  his  bride  strongly 
objected,  and  so  persistently  did  she  correct  all  who  miss- 
called  the  name,  that  the  Congressman's  old  friends, 
though  publicly  conforming  to  the  lady's  wishes,  smiled 
in  private,  and  among  themselves  clung  fondly  to  the 
old  pronunciation. 

This  little  contention  was  still  in  operation  when  an 
interesting  event  took  place  in  the  Keitt  household.  On 
the  evening  of  the  happy  day,  meeting  Senator  Hammond 
at  dinner,  he  asked  me  casually,  "What's  the  news?" 

"Why!  haven't  you  heard?"  I  replied.  "Kitt  has 
a  kitten!" 

My  poor  joke,  so  unexpected,  exploded  Senator  Ham- 
mond's gravity  immediately.  So  well  did  the  sally 
please  him,  that  it  speedily  became  an  on  dit,  alas  !  to 
the  passing  annoyance  of  the  happy  young  pair.  Mrs. 
Keitt  was  one  of  Washington's  most  admired  young 
matrons,  a  graceful  hostess,  and  famous  for  her  social 
enterprise.  It  was  she  who  introduced  in  the  capital  the 
fashion  of  sending  out  birth-cards  to  announce  the  arrival 
of  infants. 

I  have  spoken  of  Barton  Key.  He  was  a  widower 
during  my  acquaintance  with  him,  and  I  recall  him  as 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  97 

the  handsomest  man  in  all  Washington  society.  In 
appearance  an  Apollo,  he  was  a  prominent  figure  at  all 
the  principal  fashionable  functions;  a  graceful  dancer, 
he  was  a  favourite  with  every  hostess  of  the  day.  Clever 
at  repartee,  a  generous  and  pleasing  man,  who  was  even 
more  popular  with  other  men  than  with  women,  his 
death  at  the  hands  of  Daniel  E.  Sickles  in  February, 
1859,  stirred  Washington  to  its  centre. 

I  remember  very  vividly  how,  one  Sunday  morning,  as 
I  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  my  toilette  for 
attendance  at  St.  John's,  Senator  Clay  burst  into  the 
room,  his  face  pale  and  awe-stricken,  exclaiming:  "A 
horrible,  horrible  thing  has  happened,  Virginia  !  Sickles, 
who  for  a  year  or  more  has  forced  his  wife  into  Barton's 
company,  has  killed  Key;  killed  him  most  brutally, 
while  he  was  unarmed  ! " 

This  untimely  death  of  a  man  allied  to  a  famous 
family,  and  himself  so  generally  admired,  caused  a 
remarkable  and  long  depression  in  society.  Yet,  so 
strenuous  were  the  political  needs  of  the  time,  and  so 
tragic  and  compelling  the  demands  of  national  strife 
now  centred  in  Washington,  that  the  horrible  calamity 
entailed  no  punishment  upon  its  author. 

Only  the  Thursday  before  the  tragedy,  in  company 
with  Mrs.  Pugh  and  Miss  Acklin,  I  called  upon  the  un- 
fortunate cause  of  the  tragedy.  She  was  so  young  and 
fair,  at  most  not  more  than  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and 
so  naive,  that  none  of  the  party  of  which  I  was  one  was 
willing  to  harbour  a  belief  in  the  rumours  which  were 
then  in  circulation.  On  that,  Mrs.  Sickles'  last  "at 
home,"  her  parlours  were  thronged,  one-half  of  the 
hundred  or  more  guests  present  being  men.  The  girl 
hostess  was  even  more  lovely  than  usual.  Of  an  Italian 
type  in  feature  and  colouring  (she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
famous  musician,  Baggioli,  of  New  York),  Mrs.  Sickles 
was  dressed  in  a  painted  muslin  gown,  filmy  and  graceful, 


98  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

on  which  the  outlines  of  the  crocus  might  be  traced.  A 
broad  sash  of  brocaded  ribbon  girdled  her  slender  waist, 
and  in  her  dark  hair  were  yellow  crocus  blooms.  I  never 
saw  her  again,  but  the  picture  of  which  she  formed  the 
centre  was  so  fair  and  innocent,  it  fixed  itself  perma- 
nently upon  my  mind. 

When  my  husband  first  entered  the  United  States 
Senate,  in  1853,  there  were  not  more  than  four  men  in 
that  body  who  wore  moustaches.  Indeed,  the  prejudice 
against  them  was  great.  I  remember  a  moustached 
gallant  who  called  upon  me  on  one  occasion,  to  whom 
my  aunt  greatly  objected,  for,  she  said,  referring  to  the 
growth  upon  his  upper  lip,  "  No  one  but  Tennessee  hog- 
drivers  and  brigands  dress  like  that ! ' '  When  Mr.  Clay 
withdrew  from  the  Senate,  in  January,  1861,  there  were 
scarcely  as  many  without  them.  Side  and  chin  whiskers 
were  worn,  if  any,  though  the  front  of  the  chin  was 
seldom  covered.  Many  of  the  most  distinguished  states- 
men wore  their  faces  as  smoothly  shaven  as  the  Romans 
of  old.  Until  late  in  the  fifties,  men,  particularly  legis- 
lators, wore  their  hair  rather  long,  a  fashion  which  has 
been  followed  more  or  less  continuously  among  statesmen 
and  scholars  since  wigs  were  abandoned. 

This  decade  was  also  notable  as  that  in  which  the 
first  radical  efforts  of  women  were  made  toward  suffrage, 
and  the  "Bloomer"  costume  became  conspicuous  in  the 
capital.  "Bloomers  are  'most  as  plenty  as  black- 
berries,'" I  wrote  home  late  in  '56,  "and  generally  are 
followed  by  a  long  train  of  little  boys  and  ditto  '  niggers ' ! " 

Nor  were  there  lacking  figures  among  the  "  stronger  "  sex 
as  eccentric  as  those  of  our  women  innovators.  Of  these, 
none  was  more  remarkable  than  "  old  Sam  Houston." 
Whether  in  the  street  or  in  his  seat  in  the  Senate,  he  was 
sure  to  arrest  the  attention  of  everyone.  He  wore  a 
leopard-skin  vest,  with  a  voluminous  scarlet  neck-tie, 
and  over  his  bushy  grey  locks  rested  an  immense  som- 


FASHIONS  OF  THE  FIFTIES  99 

brero.  This  remarkable  headgear  was  made,  it  was 
said,  from  an  individual  block  to  which  the  General 
reserved  the  exclusive  right.  It  was  of  grey  felt,  with 
a  brim  seven  or  eight  inches  wide.  Wrapped  around 
his  broad  shoulders  he  wore  a  gaily  coloured  Mexican 
serape,  in  which  scarlet  predominated.  So  arrayed,  his 
huge  form,  which,  notwithstanding  this  remarkable  garb, 
was  distinguished  by  a  kind  of  inborn  grandeur,  towered 
above  the  heads  of  ordinary  pedestrians,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  old  warrior,  whether  viewed  from  the 
front  or  the  rear,  was  altogether  unique.  Strangers 
stared  at  him,  and  street  urchins  covertly  grinned,  but 
the  Senatorial  Hercules  received  all  such  attentions 
from  the  public  with  extreme  composure,  not  to  say 
gratification,  as  a  recognition  to  which  he  was  entitled. 

In  the  Senate,  General  Houston  was  an  indefatigable 
whittler.  A  seemingly  inexhaustible  supply  of  soft  wood 
was  always  kept  in  his  desk  and  out  of  it  he  whittled  stars 
and  hearts  and  other  fanciful  shapes,  while  he  cogitated, 
his  brows  pleated  in  deep  vertical  folds,  over  the  grave 
arguments  of  his  confreres.  A  great  many  conjectures 
were  made  as  to  the  ultimate  use  of  these  curious  devices. 
I  can,  however,  explain  the  fate  of  one. 

As  our  party  entered  the  gallery  of  the  Senate  on  one 
occasion,  we  caught  the  eye  of  the  whittling  Senator, 
who,  with  completest  sang-froid,  suspended  his  occupa- 
tion and  blew  us  a  kiss ;  then  with  a  plainly  perceptible 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  he  resumed  his  usual  occupation.  A 
little  while  afterward  one  of  the  Senate  pages  came  up 
and  handed  me  a  most  pretentious  envelope.  It  was 
capacious  enough  to  have  contained  a  package  of  govern- 
ment bonds.  I  began  to  open  the  wrappings ;  they  were 
mysteriously  manifold.  When  at  last  I  had  removed 
them  all,  I  found  within  a  tiny,  shiny,  freshly  whittled 
wooden  heart,  on  which  the  roguish  old  hero  had  inscribed, 
"Lady!  I  send  thee  my  heart !,     Sam  Houston." 


ioo  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

This  remarkable  veteran  was  seldom  to  be  seen  at  social 
gatherings,  and  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  met  him  at 
a  dinner,  but  he  called  sometimes  upon  me  on  my  weekly 
reception  days,  and  always  in  the  remarkable  costume  I 
have  described.  He  had  acquired,  besides  the  Mexican- 
Spanish  patois,  a  number  of  Indian  dialects,  and  nothing 
amused  him  more  than  to  reduce  to  a  confused  silence 
those  who  surrounded  him,  by  suddenly  addressing  them 
in  all  sorts  of  unknown  words  in  these  tongues.  My  own 
spirit  was  not  so  to  be  crushed,  and,  besides,  I  had  a  lurk- 
ing doubt  as  to  the  linguistic  value  of  the  sounds  he 
uttered.  They  bore  many  of  the  indicia  of  the  newly 
invented,  and  I  did  not  hesitate  upon  one  occasion  to 
enter  upon  a  verbal  contest  of  gibberish  on  my  side,  and 
possibly  on  his,  running  the  gamut  of  emphasis  through- 
out it ;  and,  notwithstanding  General  Houston's  depreca- 
tions (in  Indian  dialect),  sustained  my  part  so  seriously 
that  the  tall  hero  at  last  yielded  the  floor  and,  wrapping 
his  scarlet  serape  about  him,  made  his  exit,  laughing 
hilariously  at  his  own  defeat. 


/ 


CHAPTER  VII 
The  Relaxations  of  Congressional  Folk 

In  that  period  of  social  activity  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  society  women  to  find  themselves  completely 
exhausted  ere  bedtime  arrived.  Often  so  tired  was  I 
that  I  have  declared  I  couldn't  have  wiggled  an  antennae 
had  I  numbered  anything  so  absurd  and  minute  among 
my  members  !  For  my  quicker  recuperation,  after  a  day 
spent  in  the  making  of  calls,  or  in  entertainment,  with,  it 
may  be,  an  hour  or  two  in  the  Senate  gallery,  in  prepara- 
tion for  the  evening's  pleasure,  my  invaluable  maid,  Emily 
(for  whom  my  husband  paid  $1,600),  was  wont  to  get  out 
my  "shocking-box"  (for  so  she  termed  the  electrical 
apparatus  upon  which  I  often  depended),  and,  to  a  full 
charge  of  the  magical  current  and  a  half -hour's  nap  before 
dinner,  I  was  indebted  for  many  a  happy  evening. 

Amid  the  round  of  dinners,  and  dances,  and  receptions, 
to  which  Congressional  circles  are  necessarily  compelled, 
the  pleasures  of  the  theatre  were  only  occasionally  to  be 
enjoyed.  Nor  were  the  great  artists  of  that  day  always 
to  be  heard  at  the  capital,  and  resident  theatre  and  music- 
lovers  not  infrequently  made  excursions  to  Baltimore, 
Philadelphia,  or  New  York,  in  order  to  hear  to  advantage 
some  particularly  noted  star.  Before  our  advent  in  the 
capital  it  had  been  my  good  fortune,  while  travelling  in 
the  North,  to  hear  Grisi  and  Mario,  the  lovely  Bozio,  and 
Jenny  Lind,  the  incomparable  Swede,  whose  concerts  at 
Castle  Garden  were  such  epoch-marking  events  to  music- 
lovers  in  America.  I  remember  that  one  estimate  of  the 
audience  present  on  the  occasion  of  my  hearing  the  last- 

101 


io2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

named  cantatrice  was  placed  at  ten  thousand.  Whether 
or  not  this  number  was  approximately  correct  I  do  not 
know,  but  seats  and  aisles  in  the  great  hall  were  densely- 
packed,  and  gentlemen  in  evening  dress  came  with  camp- 
stools  under  their  arms,  in  the  hope  of  finding  an  oppor- 
tunity to  place  them,  during  a  lull  in  the  programme, 
where  they  might  rest  for  a  moment. 

The  wild  enthusiasm  of  the  vast  crowds,  the  simplicity 
of  the  singer  who  elicited  it,  have  been  recorded  by  many 
an  abler  pen.  Suffice  to  say  that  none  have  borne,  I 
think,  for  a  longer  time,  a  clearer  remembrance  of  that 
triumphant  evening.  When,  at  the  end  of  the  programme 
the  fair,  modest  songstress  came  out,  music  in  hand,  to 
win  her  crowning  triumph  in  the  rendering  of  a  familiar 
melody,  the  beauty  of  her  marvellous  art  rose  superior 
to  the  amusement  which  her  broken  English  might  have 
aroused,  and  men  and  women  wept  freely  and  unashamed 
as  she  sang. 

"  Mid  bleasures  and  balaces, 
Do  we  may  roam,"  etc. 

It  was  by  way  of  a  flight  from  the  capital  that  Senator 
Clay  and  I  and  a  few  congenial  friends  were  enabled 
to  hear  Parepa  Rosa  and  Forrest;  and  Julia  Dean,  in 
"Ingomar,"  drew  us  to  the  metropolis,  as  did  Agnes 
Robertson,  who  set  the  town  wild  in  the  "Siege  of  Sebas- 
topol." 

I  remember  very  well  my  first  impression  of  Broadway, 
which  designation  seemed  to  me  a  downright  misnomer; 
for  its  narrowness,  after  the  great  width  of  Pennsylvania 
Avenue,  was  at  once  striking  and  absurd  to  the  visitor 
from  the  capital.  Upon  one  of  my  visits  to  New  York 
my  attention  was  caught  by  a  most  unusual  sight.  It 
was  an  immense  equipage,  glowing  and  gaudy  under  the 
sun  as  one  of  Mrs.  Jarley's  vans.  It  was  drawn  by  six 
prancing  steeds,  all  gaily  caparisoned,  while  in  the  huge 


JENNY  LIND 

From  a  photograph  made  about  1851 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK    103 

structure  (a  young  house,  "all  but" )  were  women  in 

gaudy  costumes.  A  band  of  musicians  were  concealed 
within,  and  these  gave  out  some  lively  melodies  as  the 
vehicle  dashed  gaily  by  the  Astor  House  (then  the  popular 
up-town  hotel) ,  attracting  general  attention  as  it  passed. 
Thinking  a  circus  had  come  to  town,  I  made  inquiry, 
when  I  learned  to  my  amusement  that  the  gorgeous  caval- 
cade was  but  an  ingenious  advertisement  of  the  new 
Sewing  Machine  ! 

Charlotte  Cushman,  giving  her  unapproachable  "  Meg 
Merrilies"  in  Washington,  stirred  the  city  to  its  depths. 
Her  histrionism  was  splendid,  and  her  conversation  in 
private  proved  no  less  remarkable  and  delightful.  "  I 
could  listen  to  her  all  day,"  wrote  a  friend  in  a  brief  note. 
"  I  envy  her  her  genius,  and  would  willingly  take  her  ugli- 
ness for  it !  What  is  beauty  compared  with  such  genius  ! ' ' 

A  most  amusing  metrical  farce,  "Pocahontas,"  was 
given  during  the  winter  of  '57-58,  which  set  all  Wash- 
ington a-laughing.  In  the  cast  were  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and 
Brougham,  the  comedian  and  author.  Two  of  the 
ridiculous  couplets  come  back  to  me,  and,  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  revive  the  amusing  scenes  in  which  they  were 
spoken. 

Mrs.  Gilbert's  role  was  that  of  a  Yankee  schoolma'am, 
whose  continual  effort  it  was  to  make  her  naughty  young 
Indian  charges  behave  themselves.  "Young  ladies!" 
she  cried,  with  that  inimitable  austerity  behind  which 
one  always  feels  the  actress's  consciousness  of  the  "fun  of 
the  thing"  which  she  is  dissembling, 

"  Young  Ladies  !     Stand  with  your  feet  right  square  ! 
Miss  Pocahontas  !  just  look  at  your  hair  !  " 

and  as  she  wandered  off,  a  top-knot  of  feathers  waving 
over  her  head,  her  wand,  with  which  she  had  been  drilling 
her  dusky  maidens,  held  firmly  in  hand,  she  cut  a  pigeon- 


io4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

wing  that  brought  forth  a  perfect  shout  of  laughter  from 
the  audience. 

This  troupe  appeared  just  after  the  Brooks-Sumner 
encounter,  of  which  the  capital  talked  still  excitedly, 
and  the  comedian  did  not  hesitate  to  introduce  a  mild 
local  allusion  which  was  generally  understood.  Breaking 
in  upon  her  as  Pocahontas  wept,  between  ear-splitting 
cries  of  woe  at  the  bier  of  Captain  Smith,  he  called  out 
impatiently, 

"  What's  all  this  noise  ?     Be  done  !     Be  done  ! 
D'you  think  you  are  in  Washington?" 

Mr.  Thackeray's  lecture  on  poetry  was  a  red-letter 
occasion,  and  the  simplicity  of  that  great  man  of  letters 
as  he  recited  "Lord  Lovel"  and  "Barbara  Allen"  was 
long  afterward  a  criterion  by  which  others  were  judged. 
Notable  soloists  now  and  then  appeared  at  the  capital, 
among  them  Ap  Thomas,  the  great  Welsh  harpist,  and 
Bochsa,  as  great  a  performer,  whose  concerts  gained  so 
much  in  interest  by  the  singing  of  the  romantic  French 
woman,  Mme.  Anna  Bishop.  Her  rendering  of  "  On  the 
Banks  of  the  Gaudalquiver "  made  her  a  great  favourite 
and  gave  the  song  a  vogue.  That  musical  prodigy,  Blind 
Tom,  also  made  his  appearance  in  ante-bellum  Washing- 
ton, and  I  was  one  of  several  ladies  of  the  capital  invited 
by  Miss  Lane  to  hear  him  play  at  the  White  House. 
Among  the  guests  on  that  occasion  were  Miss  Phillips  of 
Alabama  and  her  cousin  Miss  Cohen  of  South  Carolina, 
who  were  brilliant  amateur  players  with  a  local  reputation. 
They  were  the  daughter  and  niece,  respectively,  of  Mrs. 
Eugenia  Phillips,  who,  less  than  two  years  afterward, 
was  imprisoned  by  the  Federal  authorities  for  alleged 
assistance  to  the  newly  formed  Confederate  Government. 

At  the  invitation  of  Miss  Lane,  the  Misses  Phillips  and 
Cohen  took  their  places  at  the  piano  and  performed  a 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK    105 

brilliant  and  intricate  duet,  during  which  Blind  Tom's 
face  twitched  with  what,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  hor- 
rible grimaces.  He  was  evidently  greatly  excited  by  the 
music  he  was  listening  to,  and  was  eager  to  reproduce  it. 
As  the  piece  was  concluded,  he  shuffled  about  ner- 
vously. Seeing  his  excitement,  one  of  the  pianistes  volun- 
teered to  play  with  him  and  took  her  seat  at  the  instru- 
ment. Desiring  to  test  him,  however,  in  the  second  ren- 
dering, the  lady  cleverly,  as  she  supposed,  elided  a  page 
of  the  composition ;  when,  drawing  himself  back  angrily, 
this  remarkable  idiot  exclaimed  indignantly,  "  You  cheat 
me  !     You  cheat  me  !  " 

While  a  visit  to  the  dentist,  be  he  never  so  famous,  may 
hardly  be  regarded  as  among  the  recreations  of  Con- 
gressional folk,  yet  a  trip  to  Dr.  Maynard,  the  fashionable 
operator  of  that  day,  was  certainly  among  the  luxuries  of 
the  time ;  as  costly,  for  example,  as  a  trip  to  New  York, 
to  hear  sweet  Jenny  Lind.  Dr.  Maynard  was  distinctively 
one  of  Washington's  famous  characters.  He  was  not 
only  the  expert  dentist  of  his  day,  being  as  great  an  ele- 
ment in  life  at  the  capital  as  was  Dr.  Evans  in  Paris,  but 
he  was  also  the  inventor  of  the  world-renowned  three- 
barrelled  rifle  known  as  the  Maynard.  His  office  was  like 
an  arsenal,  every  inch  of  wall-space  being  taken  up  with 
glittering  arms. 

A  peculiarity  of  Dr.  Maynard  was  his  dislike  for  the 
odour  of  the  geranium,  from  which  he  shrank  as  from 
some  deadly  poison.  Upon  the  occasion  of  one  neces- 
sary visit  to  him,  unaware  of  this  eccentricity,  I  wore  a 
sprig  of  that  blossom  upon  my  corsage.  As  I  entered 
the  office  the  doctor  detected  it. 

"Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Clay,"  he  said  at  once,  "I  must  ask 
you  to  remove  that  geranium !"  I  was  astonished,  but 
of  course  the  offending  flower  was  at  once  detached  and 
discarded;  but  so  sensitive  were  the  olfactories  of  the 
doctor,  that  before  he  could  begin  his  operating,  I  was 


106  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

obliged  to  bury  the  spot  on  which  the  blossom  had  lain 
under  several  folds  of  napkin. 

Dr.  Maynard  was  exceedingly  fond  of  sleight  of  hand, 
and  on  one  occasion  bought  for  his  children  an  outfit 
which  Heller  had  owned.  In  after  years  the  Czar  of 
Russia  made  tempting  offers  to  this  celebrated  dentist, 
with  a  view  to  inducing  him  to  take  up  his  residence  in 
St.  Petersburg,  but  his  Imperial  allurements  were  unavail- 
ing, and  Dr.  Maynard  returned  again  to  his  own  orbit. 

A  feature  of  weekly  recurrence,  and  one  to  which  all 
Washington  and  every  visitor  thronged,  was  the  concert 
of  the  Marine  Band,  given  within  the  White  House 
grounds  on  the  green  slope  back  of  the  Executive  Mansion 
overlooking  the  Potomac.  Strolling  among  the  multi- 
tude, I  remember  often  to  have  seen  Miss  Cutts,  in  the 
simplest  of  white  muslin  gowns,  but  conspicuous  for  her 
beauty  wherever  she  passed.  Here  military  uniforms 
glistened  or  glowed,  as  the  case  might  be,  among  a  crowd 
of  black-coated  sight-seers,  and  one  was  likely  to  meet 
with  the  President  or  his  Cabinet,  mingling  democratically 
with  the  crowd  of  smiling  citizens. 

At  one  of  these  concerts  a  provincial  visitor  was  observed 
to  linger  in  the  vicinity  of  the  President,  whom  it  was 
obvious  he  recognised.  Presently,  in  an  accession  of 
sudden  courage,  he  approached  Mr.  Pierce,  and,  uncover- 
ing his  head  respectfully,  said,  "  Mr.  President,  can't  I  go 
through  your  fine  house?  I've  heard  so  much  about  it 
that  I'd  give  a  great  deal  to  see  it." 

"Why,  my  dear  sir  !  "  responded  the  President,  kindly, 
"that  is  not  my  house.  It's  the  people's  house.  You 
shall  certainly  go  through  it  if  you  wish  !  "  and,  calling  an 
attendant,  he  instructed  him  to  take  the  grateful  stranger 
through  the  ¥/hite  House 

The  recounting  of  that  episode  revives  the  recollection 
of  another  which  took  place  in  the  time  of  President 
Buchanan,  and  which  was  the  subject  of  discussion  for 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK     107 

full  many  a  day  after  its  occurrence.  It  was  on  the  oc- 
casion of  an  annual  visit  of  the  redmen,  always  a  rather 
exciting  event  in  the  capital. 

The  delegations  which  came  to  Washington  in  the 
winters  of  '54-58  numbered  several  hundred.  They 
camped  in  a  square  in  the  Barracks,  where,  with  almost 
naked  bodies,  scalps  at  belt  and  tomahawks  in  hand, 
they  were  viewed  daily  by  crowds  of  curious  folk  as  they 
beat  their  monotonous  drums,  danced,  or  threw  their 
tomahawks  dexterously  in  air.  Here  and  there  one 
redskin,  more  fortunate  than  the  rest,  was  wrapped  in  a 
gaudy  blanket,  and  many  were  decked  out  with  large 
earrings  and  huge  feather-duster  head-dresses.  A  single 
chain  only  separated  the  savages  from  the  assembled 
spectators,  who  were  often  thrown  into  somewhat  of  a 
panic  by  the  sullen  or  belligerent  behaviour  of  the  former. 
When  in  this  mood,  the  surest  means  of  conciliating 
the  Indians  was  to  pass  over  the  barrier  (which  some 
spectator  was  sure  to  do)  some  whisky,  whereupon  their 
sullenness  immediately  would  give  place  to  an  amiable 
desire  to  display  their  prowess  by  twirling  the  tomahawk, 
or  in  the  dance. 

To  see  the  copper-hued  sons  of  the  Far  West,  clad  in 
buckskin  and  moccasins,  paint  and  feathers,  stalking 
about  the  East  Room  of  the  White  House  at  any  time 
was  a  spectacle  not  easily  to  be  forgotten;  but,  upon  the 
occasion  of  which  I  write,  and  at  which  I  was  present,  a 
scene  took  place,  the  character  of  which  became  so 
spirited  that  many  of  the  ladies  became  frightened  and 
rose  hurriedly  to  withdraw.  A  number  of  chiefs  were 
present,  accompanied  by  their  interpreter,  Mr.  Garrett, 
of  Alabama,  and  many  of  them  had  expressed  their 
pleasure  at  seeing  the  President.  They  desired  peace 
and  goodwill  to  be  continued;  they  wished  for  agricul- 
tural implements  for  the  advancement  of  husbandry 
among  their  tribes;  and  grist  mills,  that  their  squaws 


io8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

no  longer  need  grind  their  corn  between  stones  to  make 
"sofky"  (and  the  spokesman  illustrated  the  process  by  a 
circular  motion  of  the  hand).  In  fact,  they  wished  to 
smoke  the  Calumet  pipe  of  peace  with  their  white  brothers. 

Thus  far  their  discourse  was  most  comfortable  and 
pleasing  to  our  white  man's  amour  propre;  but,  ere  the 
last  warrior  had  ceased  his  placating  speech,  the  dusky 
form  of  a  younger  redskin  sprang  from  the  floor,  where, 
with  the  others  of  the  delegation,  he  had  been  squatting. 
He  was  lithe  and  graceful  as  Longfellow's  dream  of 
Hiawatha.  The  muscles  of  his  upper  body,  bare  of 
all  drapery,  glistened  like  burnished  metal.  His  gesticu- 
lations were  fierce  and  imperative,  his  voice  strangely 
thrilling. 

"These  walls  and  these  halls  belong  to  the  redmen!" 
he  cried.  "The  very  ground  on  which  they  stand  is 
ours !  You  have  stolen  it  from  us  and  I  am  for  war, 
that  the  wrongs  of  my  people  may  be  righted  ! " 

Here  his  motions  became  so  violent  and  threatening 
that  many  of  the  ladies,  alarmed,  rose  up  instinctively, 
as  I  have  said,  as  if  they  would  fly  the  room ;  but  our  dear 
old  Mr.  Buchanan,  with  admirable  diplomacy,  replied  in 
most  kindly  manner,  bidding  the  interpreter  assure  the 
spirited  young  brave  that  the  White  House  was  his  pos- 
session in  common  with  all  the  people  of  the  Great 
Spirit,  and  that  he  did  but  welcome  his  red  brothers  to 
their  own  on  behalf  of  the  country.  This  was  the  gist 
of  his  speech,  which  calmed  the  excitement  of  the  savage, 
and  relieved  the  apprehension  of  the  ladies  about. 

A  conspicuous  member  of  the  delegation  of  '54-55 
was  the  old  chief  Apothleohola,  who  was  brought  to  see 
me  by  the  interpreter  Garrett.  His  accumulated  wealth 
was  said  to  be  $80,000,  and  he  had  a  farm  in  the  West, 
it  was  added,  which  was  worked  entirely  by  negroes. 
Apothleohola  was  a  patriarch  of  his  tribe,  some  eighty 
years  of  age,  but  erect  and  powerful  still.     His  face  on 


JAMES  BUCHANAN 
President  of  the  United  States,  1857-61 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK     109 

the  occasion  of  his  afternoon  visit  to  me  was  gaudy  with 
paint,  and  he  was  wrapped  in  a  brilliant  red  blanket, 
around  which  was  a  black  border;  but  despite  his  gay- 
attire  there  was  about  him  an  air  of  weariness  and  even 
sadness. 

While  I  was  still  a  child  I  had  seen  this  now  aged 
warrior.  At  that  time,  five  thousand  Cherokees  and 
Choctaws,  passing  west  to  their  new  reservations  beyond 
the  Mississippi,  had  rested  in  Tuscaloosa,  where  they 
camped  for  several  weeks.  The  occasion  was  a  notable 
one.  All  the  city  turned  out  to  see  the  Indian 
youths  dash  through  the  streets  on  their  ponies.  They 
were  superb  horsemen  and  their  animals  were  as  re- 
markable. Many  of  the  latter,  for  a  consideration,  were 
left  in  the  hands  of  the  emulous  white  youth  of  the  town. 
Along  the  river  banks,  too,  carriages  stood,  crowded 
with  sight-seers  watching  the  squaws  as  they  tossed 
their  young  children  into  the  stream  that  they  might 
learn  to  swim.  Very  picturesque  were  the  roomy 
vehicles  of  that  day  as  they  grouped  themselves  along 
the  leafy  shore  of  the  Black  Warrior,  their  capacity 
tested  to  the  fullest  by  the  belles  of  the  little  city,  arrayed 
in  dainty  muslins,  and  bonneted  in  the  sweet  fashions 
of  the  time. 

During  that  encampment  a  redman  was  set  upon  by 
some  quarrelsome  rowdies,  and  in  the  altercation  was 
killed.  Fearing  the  vengeance  of  the  allied  tribes  about 
them,  the  miscreants  disembowelled  their  victim,  and, 
filling  the  cavity  with  rocks,  sank  the  body  in  the  river. 
The  Indians,  missing  their  companion,  and  suspecting 
some  evil  had  befallen  him,  appealed  to  Governor  C.  C. 
Clay,  who  immediately  uttered  a  proclamation  for  the 
recovery  of  the  body.  In  a  few  days  the  crime  and  its 
perpetrators  were  discovered,  and  justice  was  meted  out 
to  them.  By  this  prompt  act  Governor  Clay,  to  whose 
wisdom  is  accredited  by  historians  the  repression  of  the 


no  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Indian  troubles  in  Alabama  in  1835— '37,  won  the  good- 
will of  the  savages,  among  whom  was  the  great  warrior, 
Apothleohola. 

It  was  at  ex-Governor  Clay's  request  I  sent  for  the  now 
aged  brave.  He  gravely  inclined  his  head  when  I  asked 
him  whether  he  remembered  the  Governor.  I  told  him 
my  father  wished  to  know  whether  the  chief  Nea  Mathla 
still  lived  and  if  the  brave  Apothleohola  was  happy  in  his 
western  home.  His  sadness  deepened  as  he  answered, 
slowly,  "Me  happy,  some  !" 

Before  the  close  of  his  visit,  Mr.  Garrett,  the  inter- 
preter, asked  me  if  I  would  not  talk  Indian  to  his  charge. 
"You  must  know  some!"  he  urged,  "having  been 
brought  up  in  an  Indian  country  ! ' ' 

I  knew  three  or  four  words,  as  it  happened,  and  these  I 
pronounced,  to  the  great  chief's  amusement ;  for,  pointing 
his  finger  at  me  he  said,  with  a  half -smile,  "  She  talk 
Creek!" 

A  few  days  after  this  memorable  call,  I  happened  into 
the  house  of  Harper  &  Mitchell,  then  a  famous  dry- 
goods  emporium  in  the  capital,  just  as  the  old  warrior 
was  beginning  to  bargain,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  and 
entertainment  of  assisting  him  to  select  two  crepe  shawls 
which  he  purchased  for  his  daughters  at  one  hundred 
dollars  apiece  ! 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  witness  the  arrival  of  the 
Japanese  Embassy,  which  was  the  outcome  of  Commodore 
Perry's  expedition  to  the  Orient.  The  horticulturist  of 
the  party,  Dr.  Morrow,  of  South  Carolina,  was  a  frequent 
visitor  to  my  parlours,  and  upon  his  return  from  the 
East  regaled  me  with  many  amusing  stories  of  his  Eastern 
experiences.  A  special  object  of  his  visit  to  Japan  was  to 
obtain,  if  possible,  some  specimens  of  the  world-famous 
rice  of  that  country,  with  which  to  experiment  in  the 
United  States.  Until  that  period  our  native  rice  was 
inferior;  but,  despite  every  effort  made  and  inducement 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK 


in 


offered,  our  Government  had  been  unable  to  obtain  even 
a  kernel  of  the  unhusked  rice  which  would  germinate. 

During  his  stay  in  the  Orient,  Dr.  Morrow  made 
numberless  futile  attempts  to  supply  himself  with  even  a 
stealthy  pocketful  of  the  precious  grain,  and  in  one 
instance,  he  told  us,  remembering  how  Professor  Henry 
had  introduced  millet  seed  by  planting  so  little  as  a  single 
seed  that  fell  from  the  wrappings  of  a  mummy,*  he  had 
offered  a  purse  of  gold  to  a  native  for  a  single  grain; 
but  the  Japanese  only  shook  his  head,  declining  the 
proposition,  and  drew  his  finger  significantly  across  his 
throat  to  indicate  his  probable  fate  if  he  were  to  become 
party  to  such  commerce. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Japanese  embassy  in  Washington, 
to  the  doctor's  delight,  it  was  found  that  among  the 
presents  sent  by  the  picturesque  Emperor  of  Japan  to 
the  President  of  the  United  States  was  a  hogshead  of 
rice.  Alas !  the  doctor's  hopes  were  again  dashed  when 
the  case  was  opened,  for  the  wily  donors  had  carefully 
sifted  their  gift,  and,  though  minutely  examined,  there 
was  not  in  all  the  myriad  grains  a  single  kernel  in  which 
the  germinal  vesicle  was  still  intact ! 

The  arrival  of  the  browned  Asiatics  was  made  a  gala 
occasion  in  the  capital.  Half  the  town  repaired  to  the 
Barracks  to  witness  the  debarkation  of  the  strange  and 
gorgeously  apparelled  voyagers  from  the  gaily  decorated 
vessel.  Their  usually  yellow  skins,  now,  after  a  long 
sea-trip,  were  burned  to  the  colour  of  copper;  and  not 
stranger  to  our  eyes  would  have  been  the  sight  of  Paul  du 
Chaillu's  newly  discovered  gorillas,  than  were  these 
Orientals  as  they  descended  the  flag-bedecked  gang- 
planks and  passed  out  through  a  corridor  formed  of 
eager  people,  crowding  curiously  to  gaze  at  them.     Some 

*  This  story,  though  quite  commonly  repeated,  has  been  rather 
effectually  disproved  by  scientists.  It  obtained  currency  for  many 
years,  however.     A.  S. 


ii2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

of  the  Japanese  had  acquired  a  little  English  during  the 
journey  to  America,  and,  as  friendly  shouts  of  "Welcome 
to  America"  greeted  them,  they  nodded  cordially  to  the 
people,  shaking  hands  here  and  there  as  they  passed 
along,  and  saying,  to  our  great  amusement,  "How  de:  " 

Dr.  Morrow  had  brought  a  gift  to  me  from  the  East,  a 
scarf  of  crepe,  delicate  as  the  blossom  of  the  mountain 
laurel,  the  texture  being  very  similar  to  that  of  the 
petals  of  that  bloom,  and,  to  do  honour  to  the  occasion, 
I  wore  it  conspicuously  draped  over  my  corsage.  Ob- 
serving this  drapery,  one  of  the  strangers,  his  oily  face 
wreathed  in  smiles,  his  well-pomatumed  top  knot  mean- 
time giving  out  under  the  heat  of  a  scorching  sun  a 
peculiar  and  never-to-be-forgotten  odour,  advanced  to- 
ward me  as  our  party  called  their  welcome,  and,  pointing 
to  my  beautiful  trophy,  said,  "Me  lakee  !  me  lakee!" 
Then,  parting  his  silken  robe  over  his  breast,  he  pulled 
out  a  bit  of  an  undergarment  (the  character  of  which  it 
required  no  shrewdness  to  surmise)  which  proved  identical 
in  weave  with  my  lovely  scarf !  Holding  the  bit  of 
crepe  out  toward  us,  the  Oriental  smiled  complacently, 
as  if  in  this  discovery  we  had  established  a  kind  of  pre- 
liminary international  entente  cordiale  I 

This  same  pomatum  upon  which  I  have  remarked 
was  a  source  of  great  chagrin  to  the  proprietor  of  Willard's 
Hotel,  who,  after  the  departure  of  his  Oriental  visitors, 
found  several  coats  of  paint  and  a  general  repapering  to 
be  necessary  ere  the  pristine  purity  of  atmosphere  which 
had  characterised  that  hostelry  could  again  be  depended 
upon  not  to  offend  the  delicate  olfactories  of  American 
guests. 

During  the  stay  of  this  embassy,  its  members  attracted 
universal  attention  as  they  strolled  about  the  streets  or 
drawing-rooms  which  opened  for  their  entertainment. 
Their  garments  were  marvellously  rich  and  massed  with 
elaborate    ornamentation    in    glistening    silks    and    gold 


RELAXATIONS  OF  CONGRESSIONAL  FOLK    1 13 

thread.  They  carried  innumerable  paper  handkerchiefs 
tucked  away  somewhere  in  their  capacious  sleeves,  the 
chief  purpose  of  these  filmy  things  seeming  to  be  the 
removal  of  superfluous  oil  from  the  foreheads  of  their 
yellow  owners.  A  happy  circumstance ;  for,  having  once  so 
served,  the  little  squares  were  dropped  forthwith  wherever 
the  Oriental  happened  to  be  standing,  whether  in  street 
or  parlour,  and  the  Asiatic  dignitary  passed  on  innocently, 
ignorant  alike  of  his  social  and  hygienic  shortcoming. 

It  was  no  uncommon  thing  during  the  sojourn  of  these 
strangers  at  the  capital,  to  see  some  distinguished 
Senator  or  Cabinet  Minister  stoop  at  the  sight  of  one  of 
these  gauzy  trifles  (looking  quite  like  the  mouchoir  of 
some  fastidious  woman)  and  pick  it  up,  only  to  throw  it 
from  him  in  disgust  a  moment  later.  He  was  fortunate 
when  his  error  passed  unseen  by  his  confreres;  for  the 
Japanese  handkerchief  joke  went  the  round  of  the 
capital,  and  the  victim  of  such  misplaced  gallantry  was 
sure  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  his  fellows  if  caught  in 
the  act. 

The  most  popular  member  of  this  notable  commission 
was  an  Oriental  who  was  nicknamed  "Tommy."  He 
had  scarce  arrived  when  he  capitulated  to  the  charms  of 
the  American  lady;  in  fact,  he  became  so  devoted  to 
them  that,  it  was  said,  he  had  no  sooner  returned  to 
Japan  than  he  paid  the  price  of  his  devotion  by  the 
forfeit  of  his  head  in  a  basket ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Brilliant  Buchanan  Administration 

The  advent  of  Lord  arid  Lady  Napier  was  practically 
coincident  with  the  installation  of  Miss  Harriet  Lane 
at  the  White  House,  and,  in  each  instance,  the  entree  of 
Miss  Lane  and  Lady  Napier  had  its  share  in  quickening 
the  pace  at  which  society  was  so  merrily  going,  and  in 
accentuating  its  allurements.  Miss  Lane's  reign  at  the 
White  House  was  one  of  completest  charm.  Nature, 
education  and  experience  were  combined  in  the  President's 
niece  in  such  manner  as  eminently  to  qualify  her  to  meet 
the  responsibilities  that  for  four  years  were  to  be  hers. 
Miss  Lane  possessed  great  tact,  and  a  perfect  knowledge 
of  Mr.  Buchanan's  wishes.  Her  education  had  been 
largely  directed  and  her  mind  formed  under  his  careful 
guardianship ;  she  had  presided  for  several  years  over  her 
uncle's  household  while  Mr.  Buchanan  served  as  Minister 
to  England.  The  charms  of  young  womanhood  still 
lingered  about  her,  but  to  these  was  added  an  aplomb 
rare  in  a  woman  of  fifty,  so  that,  during  her  residence 
in  it,  White  House  functions  rose  to  their  highest  degree 
of  elegance;  to  a  standard,  indeed,  that  has  not  since 
been  approached  save  during  the  occupancy  of  the 
beautiful  bride  of  President  Cleveland. 

Miss  Lane's  entrance  into  life  at  the  American  capital, 
at  a  trying  time,  served  to  keep  the  surface  of  society  in 
Washington  serene  and  smiling,  though  the  fires  of  a 
volcano  raged  in  the  under-political  world,  and  the 
vibrations  of  Congressional  strife  spread  to  the  further- 
most ends  of  the  country  the  knowledge  that  the  Govern- 

114 


MISS  HARRIET  LANE 
Mistress  of  the  White  House,  1857-61 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        115 

ment  was  tottering.  The  young  Lady  of  the  White 
House  came  to  her  new  honours  with  the  prestige  of 
Queen  Victoria's  favour.  In  her  conquest  of  statesmen, 
and,  it  was  added,  even  in  feature,  she  was  said  to  re- 
semble the  Queen  in  her  younger  days.  Miss  Lane  was 
a  little  above  the  medium  height,  and  both  in  colour  and 
physique  was  of  an  English  rather  than  an  American 
type — a  characteristic  which  was  also  marked  in  the 
President.  The  latter's  complexion  was  of  the  rosiest 
and  freshest,  and  his  presence  exceedingly  fine,  notwith- 
standing a  slight  infirmity  which  caused  him  to  hold 
his  head  to  one  side,  and  gave  him  a  quizzical  expression 
that  was,  however,  pleasing  rather  than  the  contrary. 

In  figure,  Miss  Lane  was  full ;  her  complexion  was  clear 
and  brilliant.  In  her  cheeks  there  was  always  a  rich, 
pretty  colour,  and  her  hair,  a  bright  chestnut,  had  a 
glow  approaching  gold  upon  it.  She  had  a  columnar, 
full  neck,  upon  which  her  head  was  set  superbly.  I 
thought  her  not  beautiful  so  much  as  handsome  and 
healthful  and  good  to  look  upon.  I  told  her  once  she 
was  like  a  poet's  ideal  of  an  English  dairymaid,  who  fed 
upon  blush  roses  and  the  milk  of  her  charges;  but  a 
lifting  of  the  head  and  a  heightening  of  the  pretty 
colour  in  her  cheeks  told  me  my  bucolic  simile  had 
not  pleased  her. 

Of  the  Napiers  it  may  be  said  that  no  ministerial 
representatives  from  a  foreign  power  ever  more  com- 
pletely won  the  hearts  of  Washingtonians  than  did  that 
delightful  Scotch  couple.  In  appearance,  Lady  Napier 
was  fair  and  distinctly  a  patrician.  She  was  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age  when  she  began  her  two-years'  residence 
in  the  American  capital.  Her  manner  was  unaffected 
and  simple ;  her  retinue  small.  During  the  Napiers'  occu- 
pancy, the  British  Embassy  was  conspicuous  for  its 
complete  absence  of  ostentation  and  its  generous  hos- 
pitality.    Their    equipages    were    of    the    handsomest, 


n6  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

but  in  no  instance  showy,  and  this  at  a  period  when 
Washington  streets  thronged  with  the  conspicuous 
vehicles  affected  by  the  foreign  Legations.  Indeed,  at 
that  time  the  foreigner  was  as  distinguished  for  his 
elaborate  carriages  as  was  the  Southerner  for  his  blooded 
horses.* 

Lady  Napier's  avoidance  of  display  extended  to  her 
gowning,  which  was  of  the  quietest,  except  when  some 
great  public  function  demanded  more  elaborate  prepara- 
tion. On  such  occasions  her  laces — heirlooms  for  centuries 
— were  called  into  requisition,  and  coiffure  and  corsage 
blazed  with  diamonds  and  emeralds.  Her  cozy  at-homes 
were  remarkable  for  their  informality  and  the  ease 
which  seemed  to  emanate  from  the  hostess  and  com- 
municate itself  to  her  guests.  A  quartette  of  handsome 
boys  comprised  the  Napier  family,  and  often  these 
princely  little  fellows,  clad  in  velvet  costumes,  assisted 
their  mother  at  her  afternoons,  competing  with  each 
other  for  the  privilege  of  passing  refreshments.  At  such 
times  it  was  no  infrequent  thing  to  hear  Lady  Napier 
compared  with  "Cornelia  and  her  Jewels." 

Lord  Napier  was  especially  fond  of  music,  and  I  recall 
an  evening  dinner  given  at  this  embassy  to  Miss  Emily 
Schaumberg,  of  Philadelphia,  in  which  that  lady's 
singing  roused  the  host  to  a  high  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 
Miss  Schaumberg  was  a  great  beauty,  as  well  as  a  finished 
singer,  and  was  most  admired  in  the  capital,  though  she 
stayed  but  a  very  short  time  there. 

A  ball  or  formal  dinner  at  the  British  Embassy  (and 

*  A  notable  vehicle  of  this  sort  was  purchased  in  Philadelphia  by 
Mrs.  Clay,  at  a  cost  of  $1,600,  and  was  carried  to  Alabama,  where, 
among  the  foliaged  avenues  of  beautiful  Huntsville,  it  attracted  uni- 
versal attention.  It  was  a  capacious  and  splendid  equipage,  lined 
with  amber  satin,  and  was  drawn  by  the  high-bred  horses,  "Polk" 
and  "Dallas."  From  Mrs.  Clay's  possession  this  gorgeous  landau 
passed  into  that  of  Governor  Reuben  Chapman,  and,  in  the  course  of 
years,  by  various  transfers,  into  the  hands  of  a  station  hackman,  of 
colour !     A.  S. 


LADY  NAPIER  AND  HER  SONS 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        117 

these  were  not  infrequent)  was  always  a  memorable 
event.  One  met  there  the  talented  and  distinguished; 
heard  good  music ;  listened  to  the  flow  of  wholesome  wit ; 
and  enjoyed  delectable  repasts.  Early  in  1859  the 
Napiers  gave  a  large  ball  to  the  young  Lords  Cavendish 
and  Ashley,  to  which  all  the  resident  and  visiting  belles 
were  invited;  and,  I  doubt  not,  both  lords  and  ladies 
were  mutually  delighted.  Miss  Corinne  Acklin,  who 
was  under  my  wing  that  season  (she  was  a  true  beauty 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  belleship),  was  escorted  to 
supper  by  Lord  Cavendish,  and,  indeed,  had  the  lion's 
share  of  the  attentions  of  both  of  the  visiting  noblemen, 
until  our  dear,  ubiquitous  Mrs.  Crittenden  appeared. 
That  good  lady  was  arrayed,  as  usual,  with  remarkable 
splendour  and  frankly  decollete  gown.  She  approached 
Miss  Acklin  as  the  latter,  glowing  with  her  triumphs, 
stood  chatting  vivaciously  with  her  lordly  admirers. 
"Lady"  Crittenden  smilingly  interrupted  the  trio  by 
whispering  in  the  young  lady's  ear,  though  by  no  means 
sotto  voce:  "  Present  me  to  Lord  Ashley,  my  dear.  Ashley 
was  my  second  husband's  name,  you  know,  and  maybe 
they  were  kin  !" 

"I  thought  her  so  silly,"  said  the  pouting  beauty 
afterward.  "She  must  be  almost  sixty!"  But  Mrs. 
Crittenden's  kindly  inquiry  was  not  an  unnatural  one, 
for,  as  the  rich  widow  Ashley,  whose  husband's  family 
connections  in  some  branches  were  known  to  be  foreign, 
she  had  been  renowned  from  Florida  to  Maine  for  years 
before  she  became  Mrs.  Crittenden. 

At  the  home  of  the  Napiers  one  frequently  met  Mr. 
Bayard,  between  whom  and  the  English  Ambassador 
there  existed  a  close  intimacy.  Mr.  Bayard  was  the 
most  unobtrusive  of  men,  modesty  being  his  dominant 
social  characteristic.  When  I  visited  England  in  1885, 
I  had  a  signal  testimony  to  Lord  Napier's  long-continued 
regard  for  the  great  Delaware  statesman.     During  my 


n8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

stay  in  London,  the  former  Minister  constituted  himself 
cicerone  to  our  party,  and,  upon  one  memorable  afternoon, 
he  insisted  upon  drinking  a  toast  with  us. 

"  Oh,  no!"  I  demurred.     "  Toasts  are  obsolete  ! " 

"Very  well,  then,"  Lord  Napier  declared.  "If  you 
won't,  I  will.  Here's  to  your  President,  Mr.  Cleveland  ! 
But,"  he  continued  with  a  suddenly  added  depth,  "Were 
it  your  Chevalier  Bayard,  I  would  drink  it  on  my  knee  ! " 

Upon  my  return  to  America  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
shouting  to  Mr.  Bayard,  then  Secretary  of  State,  a 
recital  of  this  great  tribute.  He  had  now  grown  very 
deaf,  but  my  words  reached  him  at  last,  and  he  smiled 
in  a  most  happy  way  as  he  asked,  almost  shyly,  but 
with  a  warm  glance  in  the  eye,  despite  his  effort  to  remain 
composed,  "  Did  Napier  really  say  that  ? " 

A  feeling  of  universal  regret  spread  over  the  capital 
when  it  became  known  that  the  Napiers  were  to  return 
to  England;  and  the  admiration  of  the  citizens  for  the 
popular  diplomat  expressed  itself  in  the  getting-up  of  a 
farewell  ball,  which,  in  point  of  size,  was  one  of  the  most 
prodigious  entertainments  ever  given  in  Washington. 
One  group  of  that  great  assemblage  is  vividly  before  me. 
In  it  the  young  James  Gordon  Bennett,  whom  I  had  seen 
in  earlier  days  at  a  fashionable  water-cure  (and  whose 
general  naughtiness  as  a  little  boy  defies  description  by 
my  feeble  pen),  danced  vis-a-vis,  a  handsome,  courtly 
youth,  with  his  mother  and  Daniel  E.  Sickles. 

During  the  Pierce  administration  the  old-fashioned 
quadrilles  and  cotillions,  with  an  occasional  waltz  number, 
were  danced  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  Terpsichorean 
forms ;  but  in  the  term  of  his  successor,  the  German  was 
introduced,  when  Miss  Josephine  Ward,  of  New  York, 
afterward  Mrs.  John  R.  Thomson,  of  New  Jersey, 
\        became  prominent  as  a  leader. 

When  I  review  those  brilliant  scenes  in  which  passed 
and  smiled,  and  danced  and  chatted,  the  vast  multitude 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        119 

of  those  who  called  me  "friend,"  the  army  of  those  now 
numbered  with  the  dead — I  am  lost  in  wonder !  My 
memory  seems  a  Herculaneum,  in  which,  let  but  a  spade 
of  thought  be  sunk,  and  some  long-hidden  treasure  is 
unearthed.  I  have  referred  to  the  citizens  of  Washington. 
The  term  unrolls  a  scroll  in  which  are  listed  men  and 
women  renowned  in  those  days  as  hostesses  and  enter- 
tainers. They  were  a  rich  and  exclusive,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  numerous  class,  that  gave  body  to  the 
social  life  of  the  Federal  City.  Conspicuous  among  these 
were  Mrs.  A.  S.  Parker  and  Mrs.  Ogle  Tayloe.  The 
home  of  the  former  was  especially  the  rendezvous  of  the 
young.  In  the  late  fifties  and  sixties  it  was  a  palatial 
residence,  famous  for  its  fine  conservatories,  its  spacious 
parlours,  and  glistening  dancing  floors.  To-day,  so 
greatly  has  the  city  changed,  that  what  is  left  of  that  once 
luxurious  home  has  been  converted  into  small  tenements 
which  are  rented  out  for  a  trifle  to  the  very  poor.  At 
the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Parker's  daughter,  Mary  E.,  in 
i860,  to  Congressman  J.  E.  Bouligny,  of  Louisiana, 
crowds  thronged  in  these  now  forgotten  parlours.  The 
President  himself  was  present  to  give  the  pretty  bride 
away,  and  half  of  Congress  came  to  wish  Godspeed  to 
their  fellow-member. 

The  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ogle  Tayloe  was  a  museum 
of  things  rare  and  beautiful,  vying  in  this  respect  with 
the  Corcoran  Mansion  and  the  homes  of  the  several  mem- 
bers of  the  Riggs  family.  One  of  its  treasured  mementos 
was  a  cane  that  had  been  used  by  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 
Mrs.  Tayloe  belonged  to  a  New  York  family;  the  Tayloes 
to  Virginia.  She  was  a  woman  of  fine  taste  and  broad 
views,  a  very  gracious  hostess,  who  shrank  from  the 
coarse  or  vulgar  wherever  she  detected  it.  When 
Washington  became  metamorphosed  by  the  strangers 
who  poured  into  its  precincts  following  the  inauguration 
of  Mr.  Lincoln  in  1861,  the  Tayloe  Mansion  was  shrouded, 


i2o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

its  pictures  were  covered,  and  its  chandeliers  wound  with 
protective  wrappings.  Entertaining  there  ceased  for 
years.  "Nor  have  I,"  said  Mrs.  Tayloe  to  me  in  1866, 
"crossed  the  threshold  of  the  White  House  since  Harriet 
Lane  went  out." 

At  the  Tayloe  home  I  often  exchanged  a  smile  and  a 
greeting  with  Lilly  Price,  my  hostess's  niece,  who,  when 
she  reached  womanhood,  was  distinguished  first  as  Mrs. 
Hamersley,  and  afterward  as  Lillian,  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough. At  that  time  she  was  a  fairy-like  little  slip  of 
a  schoolgirl,  who,  in  the  intervals  between  Fridays  and 
Mondays,  was  permitted  to  have  a  peep  at  the  gay 
gatherings  in  her  aunt's  home.  Many  years  afterward, 
being  a  passenger  on  an  outgoing  steamer,  I  learned  that 
Mrs.  Hamersley,  too,  was  on  board;  but  before  I  could 
make  my  presence  known  to  her,  as  had  been  my  inten- 
tion, she  had  discovered  me  and  came  seeking  her  "old 
friend,  Mrs.  Clay,"  and  I  found  that  there  lingered  in 
the  manner  of  the  brilliant  society  leader,  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
much  of  the  same  bright  charm  that  had  distinguished 
the  little  Lilly  Price  as  she  smiled  down  at  me  from  her 
coign  of  vantage  at  the  top  of  the  stairway  of  the  Tayloe 
residence. 

But  the  prince  of  entertainers,  whether  citizen  or  official, 
who  was  also  a  prince  among  men,  the  father  of  unnum- 
bered benefactions  and  patron  of  the  arts,  was  dear  Mr. 
Corcoran.  When  my  thoughts  turn  back  to  him  they 
invariably  resolve  themselves  into 

"  And,  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest " 

Throughout  our  long  acquaintance  Mr.  Corcoran  proved 
himself  to  be  what  he  wrote  himself  down,  "one  of  the 
dearest  friends  of  my  dear  husband."  He  was  already 
a  widower  when,  shortly  after  our  arrival  in  Washington, 
I  met  him;  and,  though  many  a  well-known  beauty 
would  have  been  willing  to  assume  his  distinguished 
name,  my  own  conviction  is  that  Mr.   Corcoran   never 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        121 

thought  of  marriage  with  any  woman  after  he  committed 
to  the  grave  the  body  of  his  well-beloved  wife,  Louise 
Morris,  daughter  of  the  brave  Commodore. 

Mr.  Corcoran  was  a  tall  and  handsome  man,  even  in 
his  old  age.  In  his  younger  days  his  expression  was  the 
most  benignant  I  have  ever  seen,  though  in  repose  it  was 
tinged  with  a  peculiar  mournfulness.  The  banker's 
weekly  dinners  were  an  institution  in  Washington  life. 
During  each  session  he  dined  half  of  Congress,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  foreign  representatives  and  the  families  of 
his  fellow-citizens. 

Evening  dances  were  also  of  frequent  occurrence  at  the 
Corcoran  Mansion,  the  giving  of  which  always  seemed 
to  me  proof  of  the  host's  large  and  great  nature;  for 
Louise  Corcoran,  his  daughter,  afterward  Mrs.  Eustis, 
was  a  delicate  girl,  who,  owing  to  some  weakness  of 
the  heart,  was  debarred  from  taking  part  in  the 
pleasures  of  the  dance.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Corcoran 
opened  his  home  to  the  young  daughters  of  other  men, 
and  took  pleasure  in  the  happiness  he  thus  gave  them. 
The  "Greek  Slave,"  now  a  principal  object  of  interest 
in  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery,  was  then  an  ornament  to 
the  banker's  home,  and  stood  in  an  alcove  allotted  to  it, 
protected  by  a  gilded  chain. 

The  hospitality  of  Mr.  Corcoran 's  home,  which  Senator 
Clay  and  I  often  enjoyed,  was  a  synonym  for  "good 
cheer"  of  the  most  generous  and  epicurean  sort.  I 
remember  an  amusing  meeting  which  my  husband  and 
I  had  one  evening  with  Secretary  Cobb.  It  took  place 
on  the  Treasury  pavement.  Recognising  us  as  we  ap- 
proached, the  bland  good  humour  which  was  habitual  to 
the  Secretary  deepened  into  a  broad  smile. 

"Ah,  Clay !"  he  said  to  my  husband,  pulling  down  his 
vest  with  a  look  of  completest  satisfaction,  "  Been  to 
Corcoran's.  Johannisberg  and  torrepin,  sir!  I  wish," 
and   he   gave   his   waistcoat   another  pull,   glancing  up 


i22  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

significantly  at  the  tall  stone  pile  before  us,  "  I  wish  the 
Treasury  were  as  full  as  I ! " 

Mr.  Corcoran  was  famous  for  his  Johannisberg,  and  I 
recall  a  dinner  at  his  home  when,  being  escorted  to  the 
table  by  the  Danish  Minister,  who  had  somewhat  the 
reputation  of  a  connoisseur,  our  host  and  my  companion 
immediately  began  a  discussion  on  the  merits  of  this 
favourite  wine,  which  the  Minister  declared  was  of  prime 
quality,  and  which,  if  I  remember  rightly,  Mr.  Corcoran 
said  was  all  made  on  the  estate  of  the  Prince  de  Metter- 
nich.  When  the  Minister  announced  his  approval,  our 
host  turned  quietly  to  me  and  said,  sotto  voce,  "  I  hoped 
it  was  pure.     I  paid  fifteen  dollars  for  it ! " 

I  wish  it  might  be  said  that  all  the  lavish  hospitality 
of  that  incomparable  gentleman  had  been  appreciated 
with  never  a  record  to  the  contrary  to  mar  the  pleasure 
he  gave ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  host  at  the 
capital  whose  reputation  for  liberality  extends  so  widely 
as  did  Mr.  Corcoran's  runs  the  risk  of  entertaining  some 
others  than  angels  unaware.  The  receptions  at  the 
Corcoran  residence,  as  at  the  White  House  and  other 
famous  homes,  were  occasionally,  necessarily,  somewhat 
promiscuous.  During  the  sessions  of  Congress  the  city 
thronged  with  visitors,  many  of  them  constituents  of 
Senators  and  Congressmen,  who  came  to  Washington 
expecting  to  receive,  as  they  usually  did  receive,  social 
courtesies  at  the  hands  of  their  Representatives.  Many 
kindly  hosts,  aware  of  these  continually  arising  emergen- 
cies, gave  latitude  to  Congressional  folk  in  their  invitations 
sufficient  to  meet  them. 

At  the  Corcoran  receptions,  a  feature  of  the  decorations 
was  the  elaborate  festooning  and  grouping  of  growing 
plants,  which  were  distributed  in  profusion  about  the 
banker's  great  parlours.  Upon  one  occasion,  in  addition 
to  these  natural  flowers,  there  was  displayed  a  handsome 
epergne,  in  which  was  placed  a  most  realistic  bunch  of 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        123 

artificial  blooms.  These  proved  irresistibly  tempting 
to  an  unidentified  woman  visitor;  for,  in  the  course  of 
the  afternoon,  Mr.  Corcoran,  moving  quietly  among  his 
guests,  saw  the  stranger  take  hold  of  a  bunch  of  these 
curious  ornaments  and  twist  it  violently  in  an  effort  to 
detach  it  from  the  rest.  At  this  surprising  sight  Mr. 
Corcoran  stepped  to  the  lady's  side,  and  said  with  a 
gentle  dignity:  "I  would  not  do  that,  Madam.  Please 
desist.  The  blossoms  are  not  real.  They  are  rare, 
however,  and  have  been  brought  from  Europe  only  by 
the  exercise  of  the  greatest  care  !" 

"  Well !  If  they  have  ?  What's  that  to  you  ? "  snapped 
the  lady  defiantly. 

" Nothing,  Madam  ! "  he  responded,  quietly.  "Except 
that  I  am  Mr.  Corcoran  ! ' ' 

Fortunately,  not  all  strangers  who  were  so  entertained 
were  of  this  unpleasant  sort.  Sometimes  the  amusement 
the  more  provincial  afforded  quite  out-balanced  the 
trouble  their  entertainment  cost  our  resident  repre- 
sentatives. I  remember  an  occasion  on  which  I,  acting 
for  my  husband,  was  called  upon  to  show  a  young  woman 
the  sights  of  the  capital.  She  was  the  daughter  of  an 
important  constituent.  One  morning,  as  I  was  about  to 
step  into  the  calash  of  a  friend  who  had  called  to  take 
me  for  a  drive,  a  note  was  handed  to  me.  It  read: 
"My  dear  Mrs.  Clay:  I  hope  you  will  recall  my  name 
and,  in  your  generosity  of  heart,  will  do  me  a  favour. 
My  daughter  is  passing  through  Washington  and  will  be 

at  the Hotel  for  one  day,"  naming  that  very  day  ! 

"She  is  very  unsophisticated  and  will  be  most  grateful 
for  anything  you  can  do  toward  showing  her  the  sights 
of  the  capital,"  etc.,  etc. 

As  I  knew  I  might  command  the  services  of  my  escort 
for  the  morning  (he  was  a  Mr.  Parrish,  recently  from  the 
mines  of  Africa,  and  in  Washington  for  the  purpose  of 
securing  our  Government's  aid  in  pressing  certain  of  his 


i24  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

claims   against   a   foreign   power),    I   proposed   that   we 

proceed  at  once  to  the Hotel  and  take  the  young 

woman  with  us  on  our  drive.  To  this  a  kind  consent 
was  given,  and  in  a  short  time  I  had  sent  my  card  to  the 
3^oung  stranger.  I  found  her  a  typical,  somewhat 
callow  schoolgirl,  over-dressed  and  self-conscious,  who 
answered  every  question  in  the  most  agitated  manner, 
and  who  volunteered  nothing  in  the  way  of  a  remark 
upon  any  subject  whatsoever,  though  she  assented 
gaspingly  to  all  my  questions,  and  went  with  a  nervous 
alacrity  to  put  on  her  hat  when  I  invited  her  to  ac- 
company us  upon  our  drive. 

We  began  our  tour  by  taking  her  directly  to  the 
Capitol.  We  mounted  to  the  dome  to  view  the  wonderful 
plan  of  the  Government  City;  thence  to  the  House  and 
the  Senate  Chamber,  and  into  such  rooms  of  state  as  we 
might  enter;  and  on  to  the  Government  greenhouses, 
with  their  horticultural  wonders.  We  paused  from  time 
to  time  in  our  walk  to  give  the  young  lady  an  opportunity 
to  admire  and  to  consider  the  rare  things  before  her — to 
remark  upon  them,  if  she  would ;  but  all  our  inviting  en- 
thusiasm was  received  in  dull  silence. 

Failing  to  arouse  her  interest  in  the  gardens,  we  next 
directed  our  steps  to  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  where 
corridor  after  corridor  was  explored,  in  which  were 
specimens  from  the  obscurest  corners  of  the  earth,  mon- 
sters of  the  deep,  and  tiny  denizens  of  the  air,  purchased 
at  fabulous  sums  of  money,  but  now  spread  freely  before 
the  gaze  of  whomsoever  might  desire  to  look  upon  them. 
The  Smithsonian  Institution,  at  that  time  still  a  novelty 
even  to  Washingtonians,  has  ever  been  to  me  a  marvellous 
example  of  man's  humanity  to  man.  I  hoped  it  would 
so  reveal  itself  to  my  whilom  protegee. 

Alas  for  my  hopes  !  Her  apathy  seemed  to  increase. 
We  arrived  presently  at  the  Ornithological  Department. 
A  multitude  of  specimens  of  the  feathered  tribes  were 


THE  BUCHANAN  ADMINISTRATION        125 

here,  together  with  their  nests  and  eggs;  still  nothing 
appeared  to  interest  my  guest  or  lessen  what  I  was 
rapidly  beginning  to  regard  as  a  case  of  hebetude,  pure 
and  simple.  I  was  perplexed ;  Mr.  Parrish,  it  was  plain, 
was  bored  when,  arriving  almost  at  the  end  of  the  cases, 
to  my  relief  the  girl's  attention  seemed  arrested.  More, 
she  stood  literally  transfixed  before  the  nest  of  the  great 
Auk,  and  uttered  her  first  comment  of  the  day : 

"Lor' !"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  awestruck  amazement, 
"What  a  big  eggV 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  Celebrated  Social  Event 

Early  in  the  season  of  1857— '58,  our  friend  Mrs. 
Senator  Gwin  announced  her  intention  of  giving  a  ball 
which  should  eclipse  every  gathering  of  the  kind  that 
had  ever  been  seen  in  Washington.  Just  what  its  char- 
acter was  to  be  was  not  yet  decided ;  but,  after  numerous 
conferences  with  her  friends  in  which  many  and  various 
suggestions  were  weighed,  the  advocates  for  the  fancy 
ball  prevailed  over  those  in  favour  of  a  masquerade,  to 
which,  indeed,  Senator  Gwin  himself  was  averse,  and 
these  carried  the  day. 

Surely  no  hostess  ever  more  happily  realised  her  am- 
bitions !  When  the  function  was  formally  announced,  all 
Washington  was  agog.  For  the  ensuing  weeks  men  as 
well  as  women  were  busy  consulting  costumers,  ransack- 
ing the  private  collections  in  the  capital,  and  conning 
precious  volumes  of  coloured  engravings  in  a  zealous 
search  for  original  and  accurate  costuming.  Only  the 
Senators  who  were  to  be  present  were  exempt  from  this 
anticipatory  excitement,  for  Senator  Gwin,  declaring 
that  nothing  was  more  dignified  for  members  of  this  body 
than  their  usual  garb,  refused  to  appear  in  an  assumed 
one,  and  so  set  the  example  for  his  colleagues. 

As  the  time  approached,  expectation  ran  high.  Those 
who  were  to  attend  were  busy  rehearsing  their  characters 
and  urging  the  dressmakers  and  costumers  to  the  perfect 
completion  of  their  tasks,  while  those  who  were  debarred 
deplored  their  misfortune.  I  recall  a  pathetic  lament 
from  my   friend    Lieutenant    Henry   Myers,    who   was 

126 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  127 

obliged  to  leave  on  the  United  States  ship  Marion  on 
the  fourth  of  April  (the  ball  was  to  occur  on  the  ninth) ,  in 
which  he  bemoaned  the  deprivations  of  a  naval  officer's 
life,  and  especially  his  inability  to  attend  the  coming 
entertainment. 

When  the  evening  of  the  ball  arrived  there  was  a 
flutter  in  every  boudoir  in  Washington,  in  which  prepara- 
tion for  the  great  event  was  accelerated  by  the  pleasurable 
nervousness  of  maid  and  mistress.  Mrs.  Gwin's  costume, 
and  those  of  other  leading  Washingtonians,  it  was  known, 
had  been  selected  in  New  York,  and  rumours  were  rife  on 
the  elegant  surprises  that  were  to  be  sprung  upon  the 
eventful   occasion. 

With  Senator  Clay  and  me  that  winter  were  three 
charming  cousins,  the  Misses  Comer,  Hilliard  and  Withers. 
They  impersonated,  respectively,  a  gypsy  fortune-teller, 
a  Constantinople  girl,  and  "Titania";  and,  to  begin  at 
the  last  (as  a  woman  may  do  if  she  will),  a  wonderful 
"Titania"  the  tiny  Miss  Withers  was,  robed  in  innume- 
rable spangled  tulle  petticoats  that  floated  as  she 
danced,  her  gauze  wings  quivering  like  those  of  a  butter- 
fly, and  her  unusually  small  feet  glistening  no  less  bril- 
liantly with  spangles. 

"Miss  Withers,  yon  tiny  fairy,"  wrote  Major  de  Havil- 
land,  who  in  his  "Metrical  Glance  at  the  Fancy  Ball" 
immortalised  the  evening,  "as  'Titania'  caused  many 
a  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  Miss  Hilliard,  whose 
beauty  was  well  set  off  in  a  costly  and  picturesque  cos- 
tume of  the  East,  owed  her  triumph  of  the  evening  to 
the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Joseph  Holt,  who  had  bought  the 
costume  (which  she  generously  placed  at  my  cousin's 
disposal)  during  a  tour  of  the  Orient.  So  attractive 
was  my  cousin's  charming  array,  and  so  correct  in  all 
its  details,  that  as  she  entered  Mrs.  Gwin's  ballroom,  a 
party  of  Turkish  onlookers,  seeing  the  familiar  garb, 
broke  into  applause. 


i28  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Miss  Comer,  in  a  brilliant  gown  that  was  plentifully 
covered  with  playing-cards,  carried  also  a  convenient 
pack  of  the  same,  with  which  she  told  fortunes  in  a 
mystifying  manner,  for  I  had  coached  her  carefully  in 
all  the  secrets  of  the  day.  I  must  admit  she  proved  a 
clever  pupil,  for  she  used  her  knowledge  well  whenever 
an  opportunity  presented,  to  the  confusion  of  many 
whose  private  weaknesses  she  most  tormentingly  exposed. 

My  chosen  character  was  an  unusual  one,  being  none 
other  than  that  remarkable  figure  created  by  Mr.  Shillaber, 
Aunt  Ruthy  Partington.  It  was  the  one  character 
assumed  during  that  memorable  evening,  by  one  of  my 
sex,  in  which  age  and  personal  attractions  were  sacrificed 
ruthlessly  for  its  more  complete  delineation. 

I  was  not  the  only  one  anxious  to  impersonate  the  quaint 
lady  from  Beanville,  over  whose  grammatical  faux  pas 
all  America  was  amusing  itself.  Ben  Perley  Poore  no 
sooner  heard  of  my  selection  of  this  character  than  he 
begged  me  to  yield  to  him,  but  I  was  not  to  be  deterred, 
having  committed  to  heart  the  whole  of  Mrs.  Partington's 
homely  wit.  Moreover,  I  had  already,  the  previous 
summer,  experimented  with  the  character  while  at 
Red  Sweet  Springs,  where  a  fancy  ball  had  been  given 
with  much  success,  and  I  was  resolved  to  repeat  the 
amusing  experience  at  Mrs.  Gwin's  ball. 

Finding  me  inexorable,  Mr.  Poore  at  last  desisted  and 
chose  another  character,  that  of  Major  Jack  Downing. 
He  made  a  dashing  figure,  too,  and  we  an  amusing  pair, 
as,  at  the  "heel  of  the  morning,"  wTe  galoped  wildly  over 
Mrs.  Gwin's  wonderfully  waxed  floors.  The  galop,  I 
may  add  in  passing,  was  but  just  introduced  in  Washing- 
ton, and  its  popularity  was  wonderful. 

If  I  dwell  on  that  evening  with  particular  satisfaction, 
the  onus  of  such  egotism  must  be  laid  at  the  door  of  my 
flattering  friends;  for  even  now,  when  nearly  twoscore 
years  and  ten  have  passed,  those  who  remain  of  that 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  129 

merry  assemblage  of  long  ago  recall  it  with  a  smile  and 
a  tender  recollection.  "  I  can  see  you  now,  in  my  mind's 
eye,"  wrote  General  George  Wallace  Jones,  in  1894; 
"how  you  vexed  and  tortured  dear  old  President 
Buchanan  at  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Gwin's  famous  fancy  party  ! 
You  were  that  night  the  observed  of  all  observers!" 
And  still  more  recently  another,  recalling  the  scene,  said, 
"The  orchestra  stopped,  for  the  dancers  lagged,  laughing 
convulsively  at  dear  Aunt  Ruthy  ! ' ' 

Nor  would  I  seem  to  undervalue  by  omitting  the 
tribute  in  verse  paid  me  by  the  musical  Major  de  Havil- 
land: 

"Mark  how  the  grace  that  gilds  an  honoured  name, 
Gives  a  strange  zest  to  that  loquacious  dame 
Whose  ready  tongue  and  easy  blundering  wit 
Provoke  fresh  uproar  at  each  happy  hit ! 
Note  how  her  humour  into  strange  grimace 
Tempts  the  smooth  meekness  of  yon  Quaker's  face.* 

But — denser  grows  the  crowd  round  Partington; 
'T'were  vain  to  try  to  name  them  one  by  one."  f 

It  was  not  without  some  trepidation  of  spirit  that  I 
surrendered  myself  into  the  hands  of  a  professional 
maker-up  of  theatrical  folk  and  saw  him  lay  in  the 
shadows  and  wrinkles  necessary  to  the  character,  and 
adjust  my  front-piece  of  grey  hair  into  position ;  and,  as 
my  conception  of  the  quaint  Mrs.  Partington  was  that 

*  A  reference  to  Mrs.  Emory,  a  notably  attractive  member  of  Wash- 
ington society. 

|  Nevertheless,  the  chronicler  named  in  rapid  succession  as  among 
Mrs.  Clay's  attendants,  Lord  Napier,  Sir  William  Gore  Ouseley,  K.C.B., 
and  many  prominent  figures  in  the  capital.  "Mrs.  Senator  Clay,"  he 
added  in  prose,  "with  knitting  in  hand,  snuff-box  in  pocket,  and  'Ike 
the  Inevitable'  by  her  side,  acted  out  her  difficult  character  so  as  to 
win  the  unanimous  verdict  that  her  personation  of  the  loquacious  mal- 
apropos dame  was  the  leading  feature  of  the  evening's  entertainment. 
Go  where  she  would  through  the  spacious  halls,  a  crowd  of  eager  listen- 
ers followed  her  footsteps,  drinking  in  her  instant  repartees,  which 
were  really  superior  in  wit  and  appositeness,  and,  indeed,  in  the  vein 
of  the  famous  dame's  cacoethes,  even  to  the  original  contribution  of 
Shillaber  to  the  nonsensical  literature  of  the  day."     A.  S. 


i3o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

of  a  kindly  soul,  I  counselled  the  attendant — a  Hungarian 
attache  of  the  local  theatre — to  make  good-natured 
vertical  wrinkles  over  my  brow,  and  not  horizontal  ones, 
which  indicate  the  cynical  and  harsh  character. 

My  disguise  was  soon  so  perfect  that  my  friend  Mrs. 
L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  who  came  in  shortly  after  the  ordeal  of 
making-up  was  over,  utterly  failed  to  recognise  me  in 
the  country  woman  before  her.  She  looked  about  the 
room  with  a  slight  reserve  aroused  by  finding  herself 
thus  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  and  asked  of  Emily, 
"Where  is  Mrs.  Clay?"  At  this  my  cousins  burst  into 
merry  laughter,  in  which  Mrs.  Lamar  joined  when  assured 
of  my  identity. 

Thus  convinced  of  the  success  of  my  costume,  I  was 
glad  to  comply  with  a  request  that  came  by  messenger 
from  Miss  Lane,  for  our  party  to  go  to  the  White  House 
on  our  way  to  Mrs.  Gwin's,  to  show  her  our  "pretty 
dresses,"  a  point  of  etiquette  intervening  to  prevent  the 
Lady  of  the  White  House  from  attending  the  great  ball 
of  a  private  citizen.  Forthwith  we  drove  to  the  Executive 
Mansion,  where  we  were  carried  sans  ceremonie  to  Miss 
Lane's  apartments.  Here  Mrs.  Partington  found  herself 
in  the  presence  of  her  first  audience.  Miss  Lane  and 
the  President  apparently  were  much  amused  at  her 
verdancy,  and,  after  a  few  initiative  malapropisms, 
some  pirouettes  by  "Titania"  and  our  maid  from  the 
Orient,  done  to  the  shuffling  of  our  little  fortune-teller's 
cards,  we  departed,  our  zest  stimulated,  for  the  Gwin 
residence. 

My  very  first  conquest  as  Mrs.  Partington,  as  I  recall 
it  now,  was  of  Mrs.  Representative  Pendleton,  whom  I 
met  on  the  stairs.  She  was  radiantly  beautiful  as  the 
"Star-Spangled  Banner,"  symbolising  the  poem  by 
which  her  father,  Francis  Scott  Key,  immortalised  him- 
self. As  we  met,  her  face  broke  into  a  smile  of  delicious 
surprise. 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  131 

"How  inimitable!"  she  cried.  "Who  is  it?  No! 
you  shan't  pass  till  you  tell  me!"  And  when  I  laugh- 
ingly informed  her  in  Aunt  Ruthy's  own  vernacular, 
she  exclaimed:  "What!  Mrs.  Clay?  Why!  there  isn't 
a  vestige  of  my  friend  left ! ' ' 

My  costume  was  ingeniously  devised.  It  consisted 
of  a  plain  black  alpaca  dress  and  black  satin  apron; 
stockings  as  blue  as  a  certain  pair  of  indigos  I  have 
previously  described,  and  large,  loose-fitting  buskin 
shoes.  Over  my  soft  grey  front  piece  I  wore  a  high- 
crowned  cap,  which,  finished  with  a  prim  ruff,  set  closely 
around  the  face.  On  the  top  was  a  diminutive  bow  of 
narrowest  ribbon,  while  ties  of  similarly  economical 
width  secured  it  under  the  chin.  My  disguise  was  further 
completed  by  a  pair  of  stone-cutter's  glasses  with  nickel 
rims,  which  entirely  concealed  my  eyes.  A  white  ker- 
chief was  drawn  primly  over  my  shoulders,  and  was 
secured  by  a  huge  medallion  pin,  in  which  was  encased 
the  likeness,  as  large  as  the  palm  of  my  hand,  of  "my 
poor  Paul." 

On  my  arm  I  carried  a  reticule  in  which  were  various 
herbs,  elecampane  and  catnip,  and  other  homely  remedies, 
and  a  handkerchief  in  brilliant  colours  on  which  was 
printed  with  fearless  and  emphatic  type  the  Declaration 
of  Independence.  This  bit  of  "stage  property"  was 
used  ostentatiously  betimes,  especially  when  Aunt  Ruthy's 
tears  were  called  forth  by  some  sad  allusion  to  her  lost 
"Paul."  In  my  apron  pocket  was  an  antique  snuff-box 
which  had  been  presented  to  me,  as  I  afterward  told 
Senator  Seward,  by  the  Governor  of  Rhode  Island,  "a 
lover  of  the  Kawnstitution,  Sir." 

But,  that  nothing  might  be  lacking,  behind  me  trotted 
my  boy  "Ike,"  dear  little  "Jimmy"  Sandidge  (son  of 
the  member  from  Louisiana),  aged  ten,  who  for  days,  in 
the  secrecy  of  my  parlour,  I  had  drilled  in  the  aid  he  was 
to  lend  me.     He  was  a  wonderful  little  second,  and  the 


i32  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

fidelity  to  truth  in  his  make-up  was  so  amusing  that  I 
came  near  to  losing  him  at  the  very  outset.  His  osten- 
tatiously darned  stockings  and  patched  breeches,  long 
since  outgrown,  were  a  surprising  sight  in  the  great 
parlours  of  our  host,  and  Senator  Gwin,  seeing  the  little 
urchin  who,,  he  thought,  had  strayed  in  from  the  street, 
took  him  by  the  shoulder  and  was  about  to  lead  him  out 
when  some  one  called  to  him,  "Look  out,  Senator! 
You'll  be  getting  yourself  into  trouble  !  That's  Aunt 
Ruthy's  boy,  Ike!" 

Mrs.  Partington  was  not  the  only  Yankee  character 
among  that  throng  of  princes  and  queens,  and  dames 
of  high  degree,  for  Mr.  Eugene  Baylor,  of  Louisiana, 
impersonated  a  figure  as  amusing — that  of  "  Hezekiah 
Swipes,"  of  Vermont.  He  entered  into  his  part  with  a 
zest  as  great  as  my  own,  and  kept  "  a-whittlin'  and 
a-whittlin'  jes'  as  if  he  was  ter  hum!"  For  myself,  I 
enjoyed  a  peculiar  exhilaration  in  the  thought  that, 
despite  my  amusing  dress,  the  belles  of  the  capital 
(and  many  were  radiant  beauties,  too)  gave  way  before 
Aunt  Ruthy  and  her  nonsense.  As  I  observed  this  my 
zeal  increased,  and  not  even  Senator  Clay,  who  feared 
my  gay  spirits  would  react  and  cause  me  to  become 
exhausted,  could  prevail  upon  me  to  yield  a  serious  word 
or  one  out  of  my  character  throughout  the  festal  night. 
If  I  paid  for  it,  as  I  did,  by  several  days'  retirement,  I 
did  not  regret  it,  since  the  evening  itself  went  off  so 
happily. 

Mrs.  Gwin,  as  the  Queen  of  Louis  Quatorze,  a  regal 
lady,  stood  receiving  her  guests  with  President  Buchanan 
beside  her  as  Aunt  Ruthy  entered,  knitting  industriously, 
but  stopping  ever  and  anon  to  pick  up  a  stitch  which  the 
glory  of  her  surroundings  caused  her  to  drop.  Approach- 
ing my  hostess  and  her  companion,  I  first  made  my 
greetings  to  Mrs.  Gwin,  with  comments  on  her  "invite," 
and  wondered,  looking  up  at  the  windows,  if  she  "had 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  133 

enough  venerators  to  take  off  the  execrations  of  that 
large  assemblage";  but,  when  she  presented  Mrs.  Part- 
ington to  the  President,  "Lor!"  exclaimed  that  lady, 
"Air  you  ralely  'Old  Buck'?  I've  often  heern  tell  o' 
Old  Buck  up  in  Beanville,  but  I  don't  see  no  horns  !" 

"No,  Madam,"  gravely  responded  the  President, 
assuming  for  the  nonce  the  cynic,  "I'm  not  a  married 
man ! ' ' 

It  was  at  this  memorable  function  that  Lord  Napier 
(who  appeared  in  the  character  of  Mr.  Hammond,  the 
first  British  Minister  to  the  United  States)  paid  his  great 
tribute  to  Mrs.  Pendleton.  Her  appearance  on  that 
occasion  was  lovely.  She  was  robed  in  a  white  satin 
gown  made  dancing  length,  over  which  were  rare  lace 
flounces.  A  golden  eagle  with  wings  outstretched  covered 
her  corsage,  and  from  her  left  shoulder  floated  a  long  tri- 
colour sash  on  which,  in  silver  letters,  were  the  words 
"E  Pluribus  Unum."  A  crown  of  thirteen  flashing 
stars  was  set  upon  her  well-poised  head,  and  a  more 
charming  interpretation  in  dress  of  the  national  emblem 
could  scarcely  have  been  devised. 

Ah  !  but  that  was  a  remarkable  throng  !  My  memory, 
as  I  recall  that  night,  seems  like  a  long  chain,  of  which, 
if  I  strike  but  a  single  link,  the  entire  length  rattles  ! 
Beautiful  Therese  Chalfant  Pugh  as  "Night" — what  a 
vision  she  was,  and  what  a  companion  picture  Mrs. 
Douglas,  who,  as  "Aurora,"  was  radiant  in  the  pale 
tints  of  the  morning !  There  were  mimic  Marchionesses, 
and  Kings  of  England  and  France  and  Prussia;  White 
Ladies  of  Avenel  and  Dukes  of  Buckingham,  Maids  of 
Athens  and  Saragossa,  gypsies  and  fairies,  milkmaids, 
and  even  a  buxom  barmaid ;  Antipholus  himself  and  the 
Priestess  Norma,  Pierrots  and  Follies,  peasants  and 
Highland  chiefs  moving  in  heterogeneous  fashion  in  the 
great  ballrooms. 

Barton  Key,  as  an  English  hunter,  clad  in  white  satin 


i34  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

breeks,  cherry-velvet  jacket,  and  jaunty  cap,  with  lemon- 
coloured  high-top  boots,  and  a  silver  bugle  (upon  which 
he  blew  from  time  to  time)  hung  across  his  breast,  was  a 
conspicuous  figure  in  that  splendid  happy  assemblage, 
and  Mile,  de  Montillon  was  a  picture  in  the  Polish  character 
costume  in  which  her  mother  had  appeared  when  she 
danced  in  a  Polonaise  before  the  Empress  at  the  Tuilleries. 

Sir  William  Gore  Ouseley,  the  "  Knight  of  the  Mys- 
terious Mission,"  attracted  general  attention  in  his 
character  of  Knight  Commander  of  the  Bath.  The 
Baroness  de  Staeckl  and  Miss  Cass  were  models  of  elegance 
as  French  Court  beauties,  and  Mrs.  Jefferson  Davis  as 
Mme.  de  Stael  dealt  in  caustic  repartee  as  became  her 
part,  delivered  now  in  French  and  again  in  broken 
English,  to  the  annihilation  of  all  who  had  the  temerity 
to  cross  swords  with  her. 

Among  the  guests  "our  furrin  relations"  were  numer- 
ously represented,  and  I  remember  well  the  burst  of 
laughter  which  greeted  Mrs.  Partington  when  she  asked 
Lady  Napier,  with  a  confidential  and  sympathetic  air, 
"whether  the  Queen  had  got  safely  over  her  last  en- 
croachment." Incidentally  she  added  some  good  advice 
on  the  bringing  up  of  children,  illustrating  its  efficacy  by 
pointing  to  Ike,  whom  she  "was  teaching  religiously  both 
the  lethargy  and  the  cataplasm  ! ' ' 

My  memories  of  Mrs.  Gwin's  ball  would  be  incomplete 
did  I  not  mention  two  or  more  of  Aunt  Ruthy's  escapades 
during  the  evening.  The  rumour  of  my  intended  im- 
personation had  aroused  in  the  breast  of  a  certain  Balti- 
morean  youth  the  determination  to  disturb,  "to  break 
up  Mrs.  Clay's  composure."  I  heard  of  the  young 
man's  intention  through  some  friend  early  in  the  evening, 
and  my  mother-wit,  keyed  as  it  was  to  a  pitch  of  alertness, 
promptly  aided  me  to  the  overthrow  of  the  venturesome 
hero.  He  came  garbed  as  a  newsboy,  and,  nature  having 
provided  him  with  lusty  lungs,  he  made  amusing  an- 


MRS.  JEFFERSON  DAVIS 
of  Mississippi 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  135 

nouncements  as  to  the  attractions  of  his  wares,  at  the 
most  unexpected  moments.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  a 
bundle  of  papers  which  he  hawked  about  in  a  most 
professional  manner.  At  an  unfortunate  moment  he 
walked  hurriedly  by  as  if  on  his  rounds,  and  stopping 
beside  me  he  called  out  confidently,  "Baltimore  Sun! 
Have  a  'Sun,'  Madam?" 

"Tut,  tut!  Man!"  said  Mrs.  Partington,  horrified. 
"  How  dare  you  ask  such  a  question  of  a  virtuous  female 
widow  woman  ? ' '  Then  bursting  into  sobs  and  covering 
her  eyes  with  the  broad  text  of  the  "Declaration  of 
Independence,"  she  cried,  "What  would  my  poor  Paul 
think  of  that?"  To  the  hilarious  laughter  of  those  who 
had  gathered  about  us,  the  routed  hero  retreated  hastily, 
and,  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  restrained  by  a 
wholesome  caution,  he  gave  Aunt  Ruthy  a  wide  berth. 

Such  kind  greetings  as  came  to  this  unsophisticated 
visitor  to  the  ball !  "  You're  the  sweetest-looking  old 
thing!"  exclaimed  "Lushe"  Lamar  before  he  had  pene- 
trated my  disguise.     "I'd  just   like   to  buss  you!" 

I  had  an  amusing  recontre  with  Senator  Seward  that 
evening.  That  this  pronounced  Northerner  had  made 
numerous  efforts  in  the  past  to  meet  me  I  was  well  aware ; 
but  my  Southern  sentiments  were  wholly  disapproving 
of  him,  and  I  had  resisted  even  my  kinder-hearted 
husband's  plea,  and  had  steadily  refused  to  permit  him 
to  be  introduced  to  me.  "Not  even  to  save  the  Nation 
could  I  be  induced  to  eat  his  bread,  to  drink  his  wine,  to 
enter  his  domicile,  to  speak  to  him  ! "  I  once  impetuously 
declared,  when  the  question  came  up  in  private  of  at- 
tending some  function  which  the  Northern  Senator  was 
projecting. 

At  Mrs.  Gwin's  ball,  however,  I  noticed  Mr.  Seward 
hovering  in  my  neighbourhood,  and  I  was  not  surprised 
when  he,  "who  could  scrape  any  angle  to  attain  an  end," 
as  my  cousin  Miss  Comer  said  so  aptly,  finding  none 


i36  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

brave  enough  to  present  him,  took  advantage  of  my 
temporary  merging  into  Mr.  Shillaber's  character,  and 
presented  himself  to  "Mrs.  Partington."  He  was  very- 
courteous,  if  a  little  uncertain  of  his  welcome,  as  he 
approached  me,  and  said,  "Aunt  Ruthy,  can't  I,  too, 
have  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  you  to  the  Federal  City  ? 
May  I  have  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  you  ? "  It  was  here  that 
Mrs.  Partington  reminded  him  that  the  donor  of  her 
snuff-box  "loved  the  Kawnstitewtion."  I  gave  him  the 
snuff  and  with  it  a  number  of  Partingtonian  shots  about 
his  opinions  concerning  "Slave  Oligawky,"  which  were 
fearless  even  if  "funny,"  as  the  Senator  seemed  to  find 
them,  and  I  passed  on.  This  was  my  first  and  only  meet- 
ing with  Mr.  Seward.* 

I  was  so  exhilarated  at  the  success  of  my  role  that  I 
had  scarce  seen  our  cousins  during  the  evening  (I  am 
sure  they  thought  me  an  ideal  chaperone),  though  I 
caught  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  gauzy-winged 
"Titania,"  and  once  I  saw  the  equally  tiny  Miss  Comer 
go  whirling  down  the  room  in  a  wild  galop  with  the  tall 
Lieutenant  Scarlett,  of  Her  Majesty's  Guards,  who  was 
conspicuous  in  a  uniform  as  rubescent  as  his  patronymic. 
And  I  recall  seeing  an  amusing  little  bit  of  human  nature 
in  connection  with  our  hostess,  which  showed  how  even 
the  giving  of  this  superb  entertainment  could  not  disturb 
Mrs.  Gwin's  perfect  oversight  of  her  household. 

The  "wee  sma'  hours"  had  come,  and  I  had  just 
finished  complimenting  my  hostess  on  her  "cold  hash 
and  cider,"  when  the  butler  stepped  up  to  her  and,  in 
discreet  pantomime,  announced  that  the  wine  had  given 
out. 

*  While  this  playful  exchange  of  ideas  was  going  on,  Senator  Clay 
stood  near  his  Northern  confrere,  with  whom  his  relations  were  always 
courteous  and  kindly.  At  Mrs.  Clay's  parting  sally,  Senator  Seward 
turned  to  the  lady's  husband  and  remarked,  "Clay,  she's  superb!" 
"Yes."  replied  Senator  Clay;  "when  she  married  me  America  lost 
its  Siddons  !"     A.  S. 


A  CELEBRATED  SOCIAL  EVENT  137 

Then  she,  Queen  for  the  nonce  of  the  most  magnificent 
of  the  Bourbons,  did  step  aside  and,  lifting  her  stiff  moire 
skirt  and  its  costly  train  of  cherry  satin  (quilled  with 
white,  it  was),  did  extract  from  some  secret  pocket  the 
key  to  the  wine  cellar,  and  pass  it  right  royally  to  her 
menial.  This  functionary  shortly  afterward  returned 
and  rendered  it  again  to  her,  when,  by  the  same  deft 
manipulation  of  her  rich  petticoats,  the  implement  was 
replaced  in  its  repository,  and  the  Queen  once  more 
emerged  to  look  upon  her  merrymakers. 

For  years  Mrs.  Gwin's  fancy  ball  has  remained  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  episodes  in  the  annals  of  ante-bellum 
days  in  the  capital.  For  weeks  after  its  occurrence  the 
local  photograph  and  daguerreotype  galleries  were 
thronged  with  patrons  who  wished  to  be  portrayed  in 
the  costumes  they  had  worn  upon  the  great  occasion; 
and  a  few  days  after  the  ball,  supposing  I  would  be 
among  that  number,  Mr.  Shillaber  sent  me  a  request  for 
my  likeness,  adding  that  he  "would  immortalise  me." 
But,  flushed  with  my  own  success,  and  grown  daring  by 
reason  of  it,  I  replied  that,  being  hors  de  combat,  I  could 
not  respond  as  he  wished.  I  thanked  him  for  his  proffer, 
however,  and  reminded  him  that  the  public  had  antici- 
pated him,  and  that  by  their  verdict  I  had  already 
immortalised  myself ! 


CHAPTER   X 

Exodus  of  Southern   Society  from  the  Federal 

City 

In  the  winter  of  '59  and  '60  it  became  obvious  to 
everyone  that  gaiety  at  the  capital  was  waning.  Aside 
from  public  receptions,  now  become  palpably  perfunctory, 
only  an  occasional  wedding  served  to  give  social  zest 
to  the  rapidly  sobering  Congressional  circles.  Ordinary 
"at-homes"  were  slighted.  Women  went  daily  to  the 
Senate  gallery  to  listen  to  the  angry  debates  on  the 
floor  below.  When  belles  met  they  no  longer  discussed 
furbelows  and  flounces,  but  talked  of  forts  and  fusillades. 
The  weddings  of  my  cousin,  Miss  Hilliard,  in  1859,  and 
of  Miss  Parker,  in  i860,  already  described,  were  the 
most  notable  matrimonial  events  of  those  closing  days  of 
Washington's  splendour. 

To  Miss  Hilliard 's  marriage  to  Mr.  Hamilton  Glent- 
worth,  of  New  York,  which  occurred  at  mid-day  at  old 
St.  John's,  and  to  the  reception  that  followed,  came  many 
of  the  Senatorial  body  and  dignitaries  of  the  capital.  A 
procession  of  carriages  drawn  by  white  horses  accompanied 
the  bridal  party  to  the  church,  where  the  celebrated 
Bishop  Doane,  of  New  Jersey,  performed  the  ceremony. 
The  bride's  gown  and  that  of  one  of  the  bridesmaids  were 
"gophered,"  this  being  the  first  appearance  of  the  new 
French  style  of  trimming  in  the  capital.  One  of  the 
bridesmaids,  I  remember,  was  gowned  in  pink  crepe, 
which  was  looped  back  with  coral,  then  a  most  fashionable 
garniture;  the  costume  of  another  was  of  embroidered 
tulle  caught  up  with  bunches  of  grapes;  and  each  of  the 

138 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  139 

accompanying  ushers — such  were  the  fashions  of  the 
day — wore  inner  vests  of  satin,  embroidered  in  colour 
to  match  the  gown  of  the  bridesmaid  alloted  to  his 
charge. 

Notable  artists  appeared  in  the  capital,  among  them 
Charlotte  Cushman,  and  there  were  stately,  not  to  say 
stiff  and  formal,  dinners  at  the  British  Embassy,  now 
presided  over  by  Lord  Lyons.  This  Minister's  arrival 
was  looked  upon  as  a  great  event.  Much  gossip  had 
preceded  it,  and  all  the  world  was  agog  to  know  if  it 
were  true  that  feminine-kind  was  debarred  from  his 
menage.  It  was  said  that  his  personally  chartered 
vessel  had  conveyed  to  our  shores  not  only  the  personages 
comprising  his  household,  but  also  his  domestics  and 
skilful  gardeners,  and  even  the  growing  plants  for  his 
conservatory.  It  was  whispered  that  when  his  Lordship 
entertained  ladies  his  dinner-service  was  to  be  of  solid 
gold;  that  when  gentlemen  were  his  guests  they  were  to 
dine  from  the  costliest  of  silver  plate.  Moreover,  the 
gossips  at  once  set  about  predicting  that  the  newcomer 
would  capitulate  to  the  charms  of  some  American  woman, 
and  speculation  was  already  rife  as  to  who  would  be  the 
probable  bride. 

Lord  Lyons  began  his  American  career  by  entertaining 
at  dinner  the  Diplomatic  Corps,  and  afterward  the 
officials  of  our  country,  in  the  established  order  of  pre- 
cedence, the  Supreme  Court,  the  Cabinet,  and  Senate 
circles  leading,  according  to  custom.  His  Lordship's 
invitations  being  sent  out  alphabetically,  Senator  Clay 
and  I  received  a  foreign  and  formidable  card  to  the 
first  Senatorial  dinner  given  by  the  newly  arrived  diplo- 
mat. My  husband's  appearance  at  this  function,  I 
remember,  was  particularly  distinguished.  He  was  clad 
in  conventional  black,  and  wore  with  it  a  cream-coloured 
vest  of  brocaded  velvet ;  yet,  notwithstanding  my  wifely 
pride  in  him,  we  had  what  almost  amounted  to  a  dis- 


i4o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

agreement  on  our  way  to  the  famous  feast.  We  drove  to 
Lord  Lyons 's  domicile  with  Senator  and  Mrs.  Crittenden, 
and  my  perturbation  furnished  them  with  much  amuse- 
ment. For  some  reason  or  for  lack  of  one  I  was  obsessed 
by  a  suspicion  that  the  new  Minister,  probably  being 
unaware  of  the  state  of  feeling  which  continually  mani- 
fested itself  between  Northern  and  Southern  people  in 
the  capital,  might  assign  to  me,  as  my  escort  to  table, 
some  pronounced  Republican. 

"What  would  you  do  in  that  event?"  asked  Senator 
Clay. 

"Do?"  I  asked,  hotly  and  promptly.  "I  would 
refuse  to  accept  him  ! ' ' 

My  husband's  voice  was  grave  as  he  said,  "  I  hope 
there  will  be  no  need  ! ' ' 

Arriving  at  the  Embassy,  I  soon  discovered  that,  as 
had  been  rumoured,  the  maid  ordinarily  at  hand  to  assist 
women  guests  had  been  replaced  by  a  fair  young  English 
serving-man,  who  took  charge  of  my  wraps,  and  knelt  to 
remove  my  overshoes  with  all  the  deftness  of  a  practised 
femme  de  chambre.  These  preliminaries  over,  I  rejoined 
my  husband  in  the  corridor,  and  together  we  proceeded 
to  our  host,  and,  having  greeted  him,  turned  aside  to 
speak  to  other  friends. 

Presently  Senator  Brown,  Mr.  Davis's  confrere  from 
Mississippi,  made  his  way  to  me.  Senator  Brown  was 
one  of  the  brightest  men  in  Congress.  As  he  approached, 
my  misgivings  vanished  and  I  smiled  as  I  said,  "  Ah ! 
you  are  to  be  my  gallant  this  evening  ! " 

"  Not  so,"  replied  he.     "  I'm  to  go  in  with  Mme. , 

and  shall  be  compelled  to  smell  'camphired'  cleaned 
gloves  for  hours  ! ' ' 

He  left  my  side.  Presently  he  was  replaced  by  Mr. 
Eames,  ex-Minister  to  Venezuela.  Again  I  conjectured 
him  to  be  the  man  who  was  destined  to  escort  me;  but, 
after  the   exchange   of  a   few  words,   he,   too,   excused 


LORD  LYONS 

British  Ambassador  to  the  United  States 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  141 

himself,  and  I  saw  him  take  his  place  at  the  side  of  his 
rightful  partner.  In  this  way  several  others  came  and 
went,  and  still  I  stood  alone.  I  wondered  what  it  all 
meant,  and  gave  a  despairing  look  at  my  husband,  who,  I 
knew,  was  rapidly  becoming  as  perturbed  as  was  I. 
Presently  the  massive  doors  slid  apart,  and  a  voice  pro- 
claimed, "Dinner,  my  Lord!"  Now  my  consternation 
gave  way  to  overwhelming  surprise  and  confusion,  for 
our  host,  glancing  inquiringly  around  the  circle,  stepped 
to  my  side,  and,  bowing  profoundly,  offered  his  arm  with, 
"I  have  the  honour,  Madam!"  Once  at  the  table,  I 
quickly  regained  my  composure,  assisted,  perhaps,  to 
this  desirable  state,  by  a  feeling  of  triumph  as  I  caught 
from  across  the  table  the  amused  glance  of  my  erstwhile 
companion,  Mrs.  Crittenden. 

Lord  Lyons 's  manner  was  so  unconstrained  and  easy 
that  I  soon  became  emboldened  to  the  point  of  suggesting 
to  him  the  possibility  of  some  lovely  American  consenting 
to  become  "Lyonised."  His  Lordship's  prompt  re- 
joinder and  quizzical  look  quite  abashed  me,  and  brought 
me  swiftly  to  the  conclusion  that  I  would  best  let  this  old 
lion  alone;  for  he  said,  "Ah,  Madam!  do  you  remember 
what  Uncle  Toby  said  to  his  nephew  when  he  informed 
him  of  his  intended  marriage?"  Then,  without  waiting 
for  my  assent,  he  added,  "Alas  !  alas  !  quoth  my  Uncle 
Toby,  you  will  never  sleep  slantindicularly  in  your  bed 
more !" 

I  had  an  adventure  at  a  ball  in  1859,  which,  though 
unimportant  in  itself,  turns  a  pleasing  side-light  upon  one 
of  the  more  courteous  of  our  political  opponents.  A  dance 
had  been  announced,  the  music  had  begun,  and  the  dancers 
had  already  taken  their  places,  when  my  partner  was  called 
aside  suddenly.  Something  occurred  to  detain  him  longer 
than  he  had  expected,  and  the  time  for  us  to  lead  having 
arrived,  there  was  a  call  for  the  missing  gallant,  who 
was   nowhere   to   be   seen.     I   looked   about   helplessly, 


i42  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

wondering  what  I  was  to  do,  when  Anson  Burlingame, 
who  was  standing  near,  seeing  my  dilemma,  stepped 
promptly  forward,  and,  taking  my  hand  in  most  courtly 
manner,  he  said,  "Pardon  me,  Madam!"  and  led  me, 
bewildered,  through  the  first  steps  of  the  dance ! 

Lost  in  amazement  at  his  courtesy,  I  had  no  time  to 
demur,  and,  when  we  returned  to  my  place,  the  delinquent 
had  reappeared.  Bowing  politely,  Mr.  Burlingame  with- 
drew. The  circumstance  caused  quite  a  ripple  among 
those  who  witnessed  it.  Those  who  knew  me  best  were 
amused  at  my  docility  in  allowing  myself  thus  to  be  led 
through  the  dance  by  a  rank  Abolitionist;  but  many 
were  the  comments  made  upon  "Mr.  Burlingame's 
audacity  in  daring  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Clement  Clay  !" 

Such  were  the  scenes,  both  grave  and  gay,  that  pre- 
ceded what  was  surely  the  saddest  day  of  my  life — 
January  21,  1861 — when,  after  years  of  augmenting 
dissension  between  the  Sections,  I  saw  my  husband  take 
his  portfolio  under  his  arm  and  leave  the  United  States 
Senate  Chamber  in  company  with  other  no  less  earnest 
Southern  Senators.  For  weeks  the  pretense  of  amity 
between  parties  had  ceased,  and  social  formalities  no 
longer  concealed  the  gaping  chasm  that  divided  them. 
When  the  members  of  each  met,  save  for  a  glare  of  de- 
fiance or  contempt,  each  ignored  the  other,  or,  if  they 
spoke,  it  was  by  way  of  a  taunt  or  a  challenge.  Every 
sentence  uttered  in  Senate  or  House  was  full  of  hot 
feeling  born  of  many  wrongs  and  long-sustained  struggle. 
For  weeks,  men  would  not  leave  their  seats  by  day  or 
by  night,  lest  they  might  lose  their  votes  on  the  vital 
questions  of  the  times.  At  the  elbows  of  Senators,  drowsy 
with  long  vigils,  pages  stood,  ready  to  waken  them  at 
the  calling  of  the  roll. 

Not  a  Southern  woman  but  felt,  with  her  husband,  the 
stress  of  that  session,  the  sting  of  the  wrongs  the  Southern 
faction  of  that  great  body  was  struggling  to  right.     For 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  143 

forty  years  the  North  and  the  South  had  striven  for  the 
balance  of  power,  and  the  admission  of  each  new  State 
was  become  the  subject  of  bitter  contention.  There 
was,  on  the  part  of  the  North,  a  palpable  envy  of  the 
hold  the  South  had  retained  so  long  upon  the  Federal  City, 
whether  in  politics  or  society,  and  the  resolution  to  quell 
us,  by  physical  force,  was  everywhere  obvious.  The 
face  of  the  city  was  lowering,  and  some  of  the  North 
agreed  with  us  of  the  South  that  a  nation's  suicide 
was  about  to  be  precipitated. 

Senator  Clay,  than  whom  the  South  has  borne  no  more 
self-sacrificing  son,  nor  the  Nation  a  truer  patriot,  was 
an  ill  man  as  that  "winter  of  national  agony  and  shame" 
(vide  the  Northern  witness,  Judge  Hoar)  progressed. 
The  incertitude  of  President  Buchanan  was  alarming; 
but  the  courage  of  our  people  to  enter  upon  what  they 
knew  must  be  a  defense  of  everything  they  held  dear  in 
State  and  family  institution  rose  higher  and  higher  to 
meet  each  advancing  danger.  The  seizure  by  South 
Carolina  of  United  States  forts  that  lay,  a  menace, 
within  her  very  doorway,  acted  like  a  spur  upon  the 
courage  of  the  South. 

"  We  have  been  hard  at  work  all  day,"  wrote  a  defender 
of  our  cause  from  Morris  Island,  January  17,  1861, 
"helping  to  make,  with  our  own  hands,  a  battery,  and 
moving  into  place  some  of  the  biggest  guns  you  ever  saw, 
and  all  immediately  under  the  guns  of  old  Anderson.* 
He  fired  a  shell  down  the  Bay  this  afternoon  to  let  us 
know  what  he  could  do.  But  he  had  a  little  idea  what 
we  can  do  from  his  observation  of  our  firing  the  other 
morning.f  at  the  'Star  of  the  West,'  all  of  which  he  saw, 
and  he  thought  we  had  ruined  the  ship,  as  Lieutenant 
Hall  represented  in  the  city  that  morning.  .  .  .  We 
learn   to-day   that   in   Washington   they   are   trying   to 

*  Major  Anderson,  in  command  at  Fort  Sumter, 
f  January  9,  1861. 


i44  A  BELLE  OP  THE  FIFTIES 

procrastinate.  That  does  not  stop  our  most  earnest 
preparation,  for  we  are  going  to  work  all  night  to  receive 
from  the  steamboat  three  more  enormous  guns  and 
place  them  ready  to  batter  down  Fort  Sumter,  and  we 
can  do  it.  We  hope  the  other  points  are  as  forward  in 
their  preparations  as  we  are.  If  so,  we  can  smoke  him 
out  in  a  week.  We  are  nearest  to  him,  and  he  may  fire 
on  us  to-night,  but  if  he  were  to  kill  everybody  in  the 
State,  and  only  one  woman  was  left,  and  she  should 
bear  a  child,  that  child  would  be  a  secessionist.  Our 
women  are  even  more  spirited  than  we  are,  though,  bless 
the  dear  creatures,  I  have  not  seen  one  in  a  long  time." 

Yet,  despite  these  buoyant  preparations  for  defense, 
there  was  a  lingering  sentiment  among  us  that  caused 
us  to  deplore  the  necessity  that  urged  our  men  to  arms. 
My  husband  was  exceedingly  depressed  at  the  futility  of 
the  Peace  Commission,  for  he  foresaw  that  the  impending 
conflict  would  be  bloody  and  ruinous.  One  incident  that 
followed  the  dissolution  of  that  body  impressed  itself 
ineradicably  upon  my  mind.  Just  after  its  close  ex- 
President  Tyler  came  to  our  home.  He  was  now  an  old 
man  and  very  attenuated.  He  was  completely  undone 
at  the  failure  of  the  Peace  men,  and  tears  trickled  down 
his  cheeks  as  he  said  to  Senator  Clay,  with  indescribable 
sadness,  "Clay,  the  end  has  come  !" 

In  those  days  men  eyed  each  other  warily  and  spoke 
guardedly,  save  to  the  most  tried  and  proved  friend. 
One  evening  early  in  1861,  Commander  Semmes,  U.  S.  N., 
called  upon  us,  and  happened  to  arrive  just  as  another 
naval  officer,  whose  name  I  have  now  forgotten,  was 
announced.  The  surprise  that  spread  over  the  faces  of 
our  visitors  when  they  beheld  each  other  was  great,  but 
Senator  Clay's  and  my  own  was  greater,  as  hour  after 
hour  was  consumed  in  obvious  constraint.  Neither  of 
the  officers  appeared  to  be  at  ease,  yet  for  hours  neither 
seemed  to  desire  to  relieve  the  situation  by  taking  his 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  145 

departure.  Midnight  had  arrived  ere  our  now  forgotten 
guest  rose  and  bade  us  "good  night."  Then  Commander 
Semmes  hastened  to  unbosom  himself.  He  had  re- 
solved to  out-sit  the  other  gentleman  if  it  took  all  night. 

"As  my  Senator,  Mr.  Clay,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  report 
to  you  my  decision  on  an  important  matter.  I  have 
resolved  to  hand  in  my  resignation  to  the  United  States 
Government,  and  tender  my  services  to  that  of  the 
Confederate  States.  I  don't  know  what  the  intention 
of  my  brother  officer  is,  but  I  could  take  no  risk  with  him," 
he  added.  Many  a  scene  as  secret,  as  grave,  and  as 
"treasonable,"  took  place  in  those  last  lowering  weeks. 

I  have  often  mused  upon  the  impression  held  by  the 
younger  generation  of  those  who  were  adverse  to  the 
South,  viz.:  that  she  "was  prepared  for  the  war"  into 
which  we  were  precipitated  practically  by  the  admission 
of  Kansas ;  that  our  men,  with  treasonable  foresight,  had 
armed  themselves  individually  and  collectively  for 
resistance  to  our  guileless  and  unsuspicious  oppressors. 
Had  this  been  true,  the  result  of  that  terrible  civil  strife 
would  surely  have  been  two  nations  where  now  we  have 
one.  To  the  last,  alas  !  too  few  of  our  people  realised 
that  war  was  inevitable.  Even  our  provisional  Secretary 
of  War  for  the  Confederate  States,*  early  in  '61,  publicly 
prophesied  that,  should  fighting  actually  begin,  it  would 
be  over  in  three  months !  It  must  be  apparent  to 
thinkers  that  such  gay  dreamers  do  not  form  deep  or 
"deadly  plots." 

Personally  I  knew  of  but  one  man  whose  ferocity  led  him 
to  collect  and  secrete  weapons  of  warfare.  He  was 
Edmund  Ruffin,  of  Virginia,  with  whom  I  entered  into 
collusion.  For  months  my  parlour  was  made  an  arsenal 
for  the  storing  of  a  dozen  lengthy  spears.  They  were 
handsome  weapons,  made,  I  suspect,  for  some  decorative 
purpose,  but  I  never  knew  their  origin  nor  learned  of 

*  General  L.  Pope  Walker. 


i46  A  BELLE  OP  THE  FIFTIES 

their  destination.  On  them  were  engraved  these  revolu- 
tionary words: 

"Out  of  this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  the  flower  of 
safety." 

As  Senator  Clay's  unequivocal  position  as  a  Southern 
man  was  everywhere  understood,  our  parlours  were  fre- 
quently the  gathering-place  of  statesmen  from  our  own 
section  and  such  others  as  were  friendly  to  our  people  and 
believed  in  our  right  to  defend  the  principles  we  had  main- 
tained since  the  administration  of  the  first  President  of 
the  United  States.  Among  the  last  mentioned  were 
Senators  Pendleton  and  Pugh,  and  the  ardent  member 
of  Congress  from  Ohio,  Mr.  Vallandigham.  Often  the 
"dread  arms"  deposited  by  Mr.  Rufrin  proved  a  subject 
of  conjecture  and  mirth,  with  which  closed  some  weightier 
conversation.  As  the  day  drew  near,  however,  for  the 
agreed  upon  withdrawal  of  our  Senators,  the  tension 
under  which  all  laboured  made  jests  impossible,  and 
keyed  every  heart  to  the  utmost  solemnity.  Monday, 
January  21st,  was  the  day  privately  agreed  upon 
by  a  number  of  Senators  for  their  public  declaration  of 
secession;  but,  as  an  example  of  the  uncertainty  which 
hobbled  our  men,  until  within  a  day  or  two  of  the  ap- 
pointed time  several  still  awaited  the  instructions  from 
their  States  by  which  their  final  act  must  be  governed. 
Early  on  Sunday  morning,  January  20th,  my  husband 
received  from  a  distinguished  colleague  the  following 
letter : 

"  Washington,  Saturday  night,  January  19,  1861. 
"My  Dear  Clay:  By  telegraph  I   am  informed  that  the 
copy  of  the  ordinance  of  secession  of  my  State  was  sent  by 
mail  to-day,  one  to  each  of  two  branches  of  representation, 

and  that  my  immediate  presence  at is  required.    It  thus 

appears  that was  expected  to  present  the  paper  in  the 

Senate  and  some  one  of  the  members  to  do  so  in  the  House. 
All  have  gone  save  me,  I,  alone,  and  I  am  called  away.  We 
have  piped  and  they  would  not  dance,  and  now  the  devil  may  care. 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  147 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  that  you  are  sick,  the  more  so  that 
I  cannot  go  to  you.     God  grant  your  attack  may  be  slight." 

And  now  the  morning  dawned  of  what  all  knew  would 
be  a  day  of  awful  import.  I  accompanied  my  husband 
to  the  Senate,  and  everywhere  the  greeting  or  gaze 
of  absorbed,  unrecognising  men  and  women  was  serious 
and  full  of  trouble.  The  galleries  of  the  Senate,  which 
hold,  it  is  estimated,  one  thousand  people,  were  packed 
densely,  principally  with  women,  who,  trembling  with 
excitement,  awaited  the  denouement  of  the  day.  As, 
one  by  one,  Senators  David  Yulee,  Stephen  K.  Mallory, 
Clement  C.  Clay,  Benjamin  Fitzpatrick,  and  Jefferson 
Davis  rose,  the  emotion  of  their  brother  Senators  and  of 
us  in  the  galleries  increased ;  and,  when  I  heard  the  voice 
of  my  husband,  steady  and  clear,  notwithstanding  his  ill- 
ness, declare  in  that  Council  Chamber: 

"Mr.  President,  I  rise  to  announce  that  the  people  of 
Alabama  have  adopted  an  ordinance  whereby  they  with- 
draw from  the  Union,  formed  under  a  compact  styled  the 
United  States,  resume  the  powers  delegated  to  it,  and 
assume  their  separate  station  as  a  sovereign  and  inde- 
pendent people,"  it  seemed  as  if  the  blood  within  me  con- 
gealed. 

As  each  Senator,  speaking  for  his  State,  concluded  his 
solemn  renunciation  of  allegiance  to  the  United  States, 
women  grew  hysterical  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs, 
encouraging  them  with  cries  of  sympathy  and  admira- 
tion. Men  wept  and  embraced  each  other  mournfully. 
At  times  the  murmurs  among  the  onlookers  grew  so  deep 
that  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  was  ordered  to  clear  the  gal- 
leries; and,  as  each  speaker  took  up  his  portfolio  and 
gravely  left  the  Senate  Chamber,  sympathetic  shouts 
rang  from  the  assemblage  above.  Scarcely  a  member  of 
that  Senatorial  body  but  was  pale  with  the  terrible  sig- 
nificance of  the  hour.  There  was  everywhere  a  feeling 
of  suspense,  as  if,  visibly,  the  pillars  of  the  temple  were 


i48  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

being  withdrawn  and  the  great  Government  structure 
was  tottering ;  nor  was  there  a  patriot  on  either  side  who 
did  not  deplore  and  whiten  before  the  evil  that  brooded 
so  low  over  the  nation, 

When  Senator  Clay  concluded  his  speech,  many  of  his 
colleagues,  among  them  several  from  Republican  ranks, 
came  forward  to  shake  hands  with  him.  For  months  his 
illness  had  been  a  theme  of  public  regret  and  apprehension 
among  our  friends.  "A  painful  rumour  reached  me  this 
morning,"  wrote  Joseph  Holt  to  me  late  in  i860,  "in  rela- 
tion to  the  health  of  your  excellent  husband.  .  .  . 
While  I  hope  sincerely  this  is  an  exaggeration,  yet  the 
apprehensions  awakened  are  so  distressing,  that  I  cannot 
resist  the  impulse  of  my  heart  to  write  you  in  the  trust 
that  your  reply  will  relieve  me  from  all  anxiety.  It  is  my 
earnest  prayer  that  a  life  adorned  by  so  many  graces  may 
be  long  spared  to  yourself,  so  worthy  of  its  devotion,  and 
to  our  country,  whose  councils  so  need  its  genius  and 
patriotism.  .  .  .  Believe  me  most  sincerely  your 
friend,  Joseph  Holt." 

In  fact,  the  news  of  Senator  Clay's  physical  sufferings 
had  been  telegraphed  far  and  near,  and,  merged  with  the 
fear  for  our  country,  there  was,  in  my  own  heart,  great 
anxiety  and  sadness  for  him.  Our  mail  was  full  of 
inquiries  as  to  his  welfare,  many  from  kindly  strangers 
and  even  from  States  that  were  bitterly  inimical  to  our 
cause.  One  of  these  came  from  the  far  North,  from  one 
who  signed  himself,  "A  plain  New  Hampshire  minister, 
Henry  E.  Parker."  Nor  can  I  refrain  from  quoting  a 
portion  of  his  letter,  which  bears  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
date  of  January  21st,  1861.     He  wrote  as  follows: 

"  I  am  utterly  appalled  at  this  projected  dissolution  of 
our  Government.  To  lose,  to  throw  away  our  place  and 
name  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  seems  not  merely 
like  the  madness  of  suicide,  but  the  very  blackness  of  anni- 
hilation.   If  this  thing  shall  be  accomplished,  it  will  be,  to 


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CLEMENT   C.   CLAY,  JR. 
United  States  Senator,  1853-61 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  1 49 

my  view,  the  crime  of  the  nineteenth  century ;  the  parti- 
tion of  Poland  will  be  nothing  in  comparison. 

"  Born  and  educated  as  we  are  at  the  North,  sensible 
men  at  the  South  cannot  wonder  at  the  views  we  entertain, 
nor  do  sensible  men  at  the  North  think  it  strange  that, 
born  and  educated  as  the  Southerner  is,  he  should  feel 
very  differently  from  the  Northerner  in  some  things ;  but 
why  should  not  all  these  difficulties  sink  before  our  com- 
mon love  for  our  common  country?" 

Why,  indeed!  Yet  the  cry  of  "disunion"  had  been 
heard  for  forty  years*  and  still  our  Southern  men  had  for- 
borne, until  the  party  belligerents,  whose  encroachments 
had  now,  at  last,  become  unbearable,  had  begun  to  look 
upon  our  protests  as  it  were  a  mere  cry  of  "wolf."  Of 
those  crucial  times,  and  of  that  dramatic  scene  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  no  Southern  pen  has  written  in  per- 
manent words;  and  such  Northern  historians  as  Messrs. 
Nicolay  and  Hay  elide,  as  if  their  purpose  were  to  obscure, 
the  deliberate  and  public  withdrawal  of  those  representa- 
tives, our  martyrs  to  their  convictions,  their  institutions 
and  their  children's  heritages;  and  would  so  bury  them 
under  the  sweeping  charges  of  "conspiracy"  and  "trea- 
son" that  the  casual  reader  of  the  future  is  not  likely  to 
realise  with  what  candour  to  their  opponents,  with  what 
dignity  to  themselves,  out  of  what  loyalty  to  their  States, 
and  yet  again  with  what  grief  for  the  nation  and  sacrifice 
of  life-time  associations,  the  various  seceding  Senators 
went  out  at  last  from  that  august  body  ! 

For  months  the  struggle  of  decades  had  been  swiftly 
approximating  to  its  bloody  culmination.  Our  physical 
prosperity,  no  less  than  the  social  security  we  enjoyed, 
had  caused  us  to  become  objects  of  envy  to  the  rough  ele- 

*  "  Talk  of  disunion,  threats  of  disunion,  accusations  of  intentions  of 
disunion  lie  scattered  plentifully  through  the  political  literature  of  the 
country  from  the  very  formation  of  the  Government,"  say  Messrs. 
Nicolay  and  Hay.  See  vol.  II,  page  296,  of  "Abraham  Lincoln."  Also, 
"Benton's  Thirty  Years'  View."     Vol.  II,  page  786. 


150  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

ments  in  the  new  settlements,  especially  of  the  North- 
west.* So  inimical  was  the  North  to  us  that  though  the 
South  was  the  treasury  of  the  nation;  though  she  had 
contributed  from  her  territory  the  very  land  upon  which 
the  Federal  City  was  built;  though  her  sons  ranked 
among  the  most  brilliant  of  whom  the  young  Republic 
could  boast — it  was  impossible  for  the  South  to  get  an 
appropriation  of  even  a  few  hundred  thousand  dollars,  to 
provide  for  the  building  of  a  lighthouse  on  that  most 
dangerous  portion  of  the  Atlantic  coast,  the  shore  of 
North  Carolina ! 

An  era  of  discovery  and  expansion  preceded  the  out- 
break of  the  war.  By  means  of  costly  embassies  to  the 
Eastern  countries,  new  avenues  of  commerce  had  been 
opened.  The  acquisition  of  Cuba  and  of  the  Mexican 
States  became  an  ambition  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Buchanan, 
who  was  anxious  to  repeat  during  his  Administration  the 
successes  of  his  predecessors,  Presidents  Fillmore  and 
Pierce.  So  long  ago  as  '55,  the  question  of  the  purchase 
of  the  island  of  St.  Thomas  from  the  Danish  Government 
was  a  subject  that  called  for  earnest  diplomacy  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Raasloff,  the  Danish  Minister;  and  the  gold 
fever  which  made  Northern  adventurers  mad  carried 
many  to  rifle  the  distant  Pacific  coast  of  its  treasures.  By 
this  time  the  cotton  gin  had  demonstrated  its  great  worth, 
and  the  greed  of  acquisition  saw  in  our  cotton  fields  a  new 
source  of  envy,  for  we  had  no  need  to  dig  or  to  delve — we 
shook  our  cotton  plants  and  golden  dollars  dropped  from 
them.  Had  the  gathering  of  riches  been  our  object  in 
life,  men  of  the  South  had  it  in  their  power  to  have  rivalled 
the  wealth  of  the  fabled  Midas ;  but,  as  was  early  observed 
by  a  statesman  who  never  was  partisan,  the  "  Southern 
statesmen  went  for  the  honours  and  the  Northern  for  the 
benefits."     In  consequence,   wrote   Mr.    Benton   (1839), 

*  This  fact  is   emphasised  by  Messrs.  Nicolay  and  Hay.      See  vol.  I, 
page  142,  "Abraham  Lincoln." 


EXODUS  OF  SOUTHERN  SOCIETY  1 5 1 

"the  North  has  become  rich  upon  the  benefits  of  the  Gov- 
ernment ;  the  South  has  grown  lean  upon  its  honours." 

From  the  hour  of  this  exodus  of  Senators  from  the 
official  body,  all  Washington  seemed  to  change.  Imagina- 
tion can  scarcely  conjure  up  an  atmosphere  at  once  so 
ominous  and  so  sad.  Each  step  preparatory  to  our 
departure  was  a  pang.  Carriages  and  messengers  dashed 
through  the  streets  excitedly.  Farewells  were  to  be 
spoken,  and  many,  we  knew,  would  be  final.  Vehicles 
lumbered  on  their  way  to  wharf  or  station  filled  with  the 
baggage  of  departing  Senators  and  Members.  The  brows 
of  hotel-keepers  darkened  with  misgivings,  for  the  disap- 
pearance from  the  Federal  City  of  the  families  of  Con- 
gressional representatives  from  the  fifteen  slave-holding 
States  made  a  terrible  thinning  out  of  its  population; 
and,  in  the  strange  persons  of  the  politicians,  already 
beginning  to  press  into  the  capital,  there  was  little  indi- 
cation that  these  might  prove  satisfactory  substitutes  for 
us  who  were  withdrawing. 

"How  shall  I  commence  my  letter  to  you?"  wrote  the 
wife  of  Colonel  Philip  Phillips  to  me  a  month  or  two  after 
we  had  left  Washington.  "What  can  I  tell  you,  but  of 
despair,  of  broken  hearts,  of  ruined  fortunes,  the  sobs  of 
women,  and  sighs  of  men !  .  .  .  I  am  still  in  this 
horrible  city  .  .  .  but,  distracted  as  I  am  at  the  idea 
of  being  forced  to  remain,  we  feel  the  hard  necessity  of 
keeping  quiet.  .  .  .  For  days  I  saw  nothing  but 
despairing  women  leaving  [Washington]  suddenly,  their 
husbands  having  resigned  and  sacrificed  their  all  for  their 
beloved  States.  You  would  not  know  this  God-forsaken 
city,  our  beautiful  capital,  with  all  its  artistic  wealth, 
desecrated,  disgraced  with  Lincoln's  low  soldiery.  The 
respectable  part  [of  the  soldiers]  view  it  also  in  the  same 
spirit,  for  one  of  the  Seventh  Regiment  told  me  that  never 
in  his  life  had  he  seen  such  ruin  going  on  as  is  now  enacted 
in  the  halls  of  our  once  honoured  Capitol !     I  cannot  but 


152  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

think  that  the  presentiment  that  the  South  would  wish 
to  keep  Washington  must  have  induced  this  desecration 
of  all  that  should  have  been  respected  by  the  mob  in 
power.     .     .     .     The  Gwins  are  the  only  ones  left  of  our 

intimates,  and  Mrs.  G is  packed  up  ready  to  leave. 

Poor  thing !  her  eyes  are  never  without  tears.  .  .  . 
There  are  30,000  troops  here.  Think  of  it !  They  go 
about  the  avenue  insulting  women  and  taking  property 
without  paying  for  it.  .  .  .  Such  are  the  men  waged 
to  subjugate  us  of  the  South.  .  .  .  We  hear  con- 
stantly from  Montgomery.  Everything  betokens  a  deep, 
abiding  faith  in  the  cause. 

"  I  was  told  that  those  giant  intellects,  the  Blairs, 
who  are  acting  under  the  idea  of  being  second  Jacksons, 
wishing  to  get  a  good  officer  to  do  some  of  their  dirty 
work '  (destroying  public  property) ,  wished  Colonel  Lee 
sent  for.  '  Why,  he  has  resigned  ! '  '  Then  tell  Magruder ! ' 
'He  has  resigned,  too.'  'General  Joe  Johnston,  then!' — 
'  He,  too,  has  gone  out ! '     '  Smith  Lee  ? '     Ditto  ! 

"  '  Good  God  !'  said  Blair.  '  Have  all  our  good  officers 
left  us?' 

"  I  hear  these  Blairs  are  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  war 
policy.  Old  Blair's  country  place  was  threatened,  and 
his  family,  including  the  fanatical  Mrs.  Lee,  had  to  fly 
into  the  city.  This  lady  was  the  one  who  said  to  me 
that  '  she  wished  the  North  to  be  deluged  with  the  blood 
of  the  South  ere  Lincoln  should  yield  one  iota  ! ' 

"  Do  not  believe  all  you  hear  about  the  Northern 
sympathy  for  Lincoln.  The  Democrats  still  feel  for  the 
South.  If  Congress  does  not  denounce  Lincoln  for  his 
unlawful  and  unconstitutional  proceedings,  I  shall  begin 
to  think  we  have  no  country  ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XI 
War  Is  Proclaimed 

Upon  leaving  the  Federal  capital  we  proceeded  to  the 
home  of  Senator  Clay's  cousin,  Doctor  Thomas  Withers, 
at  Petersburg,  Va.  My  husband's  health,  already  feeble, 
had  suffered  greatly  from  the  months  of  strife  which 
culminated  in  the  scenes  through  which  we  had  just 
passed,  and  we  had  scarcely  arrived  in  Petersburg  when 
a  serious  collapse  occurred.  Mr.  Clay  now  became  so 
weakened  that  fears  were  reiterated  by  all  who  saw  him 
that  he  could  not  survive.  I  was  urged  to  take  him  at 
once  to  Minnesota,  the  attending  physicians  all  agreeing 
that  this  was  the  one  experiment  in  which  lay  a  chance 
for  prolonging  his  life.  In  those  days  the  air  of  that  far 
western  State  was  supposed  to  have  a  phenomenally 
curative  effect  upon  the  victims  of  asthma,  from  which 
for  years  Mr.  Clay  had  suffered  an  almost  "daily  death." 
In  the  present  acute  attack,  his  body  sick  and  his  heart 
sore  from  our  late  ordeals,  fearful  of  the  danger  of  delay, 
I  at  once  put  into  execution  plans  for  the  northward 
trip  in  which  lay  even  a  slender  hope  for  his  recovery. 
No  one  who  had  witnessed  my  husband's  dignified  with- 
drawal from  the  Senate,  who  had  heard  his  firm  utterance 
of  what  was  at  once  a  challenge  to  arms  and  a  warning 
that  Alabama  would  defend  her  decision  to  stand  alone, 
would  have  recognised  the  invalid  now  struggling  for  his 
life  against  the  dread  disease.  He  was  extremely  emaci- 
ated. 

"When  I  last  saw  you,"  wrote  John  T.  Morgan  *  from 

*  Now  United  States  Senator  from  Alabama. 

153 


i54  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

camp,  some  months  later,  "your  health  scarcely  justified 
the  hope  that  you  would  become  one  of  the  first  Senators 
in  a  new  Confederacy.  I  was  grieved  that  when  we  came 
to  meet  the  great  struggle  in  Alabama  you  were  not  per- 
mitted to  aid  us  further  than  by  your  counsels  and 
recorded  opinions.  I  rejoice  that  you  are  again  our 
representative  in  a  Senate  where  the  South  is  not  to  be 
defended  against  foes  within  her  own  bosom,  but  to  reap 
the  advantage  of  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  her  own 
statesmen." 

My  brother-in-law,  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  afterward 
Colonel  on  the  staff  of  our  friend,  General  E.  Kirby 
Smith,  hurried,  therefore,  from  Alabama  to  accompany 
us  upon  the  slow  journey  made  necessary  by  Mr.  Clay's 
extreme  weakness. 

In  due  time  we  arrived  at  the  International  Hotel, 
St.  Paul.  Here,  though  our  stay  was  short,  we  had  an 
unpleasant  experience,  a  single  one,  due  to  sectional 
feeling.  Having  safely  bestowed  Mr.  Clay  in  his  room, 
our  brother  made  his  way  to  the  drug-store,  which,  as  we 
entered,  we  had  observed  was  below  the  hotel,  to  purchase 
a  necessary  restorative  for  my  husband.  While  waiting 
there  for  the  wrapping  of  the  medicine,  two  young  men 
entering  met,  and  one  exclaimed  to  the  other : 

"  Here's  a  good  chance  !  Clay,  the  fire-eating  Senator 
from  Alabama,  is  in  this  house.     Let's  mob  him  ! " 

My  brother,  both  indignant  and  surprised,  was  also 
fearful  lest  they  should  carry  out  their  threat  and  thereby 
work  incalculable  evil  to  our  invalid.  He  turned  promptly 
and  addressed  them: 

"Mr.  Clay,  of  whom  you  speak,"  he  said,  "is  my 
brother,  and,  it  may  be,  a  hopeless  invalid.  He  is  here 
seeking  health.    You  can  molest  him  only  through  me  !  " 

But  now  a  second  surprise  met  him,  for  the  two  youths 
began  a  very  duet  of  apology,  declaring  they  "had  only 
been  joking."     They  meant  no  offense,  they  said,  and, 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  155 

in  fact,  themselves  were  democrats.  Feeling,  they  con- 
tinued, was  at  high  tide,  and  it  was  the  fashion  of  the 
times  to  denounce  the  South.  Upon  this  frank  acknowl- 
edgment the  trio  shook  hands  and  parted,  nor  did 
Senator  Clay  and  I  hear  of  the  altercation  until  the  next 
day,  when  it  was  repeated  to  us  by  a  kind  friend,  Mr. 
George  Culver,  at  whose  home,  in  St.  Paul,  we  lingered  for 
several  weeks.  Here  the  wonderful  climate  appreciably 
restored  the  invalid,  and  Mr.  Clay  was  soon  able  to  move 
about,  and  added  to  his  weight  almost  visibly. 

In  the  meantime,  the  news  of  the  gathering  together 
of  armies,  both  North  and  South,  came  more  and  more 
frequently.  Everywhere  around  us  preparations  were 
making  for  conflict.  The  news  from  the  seceding  States 
was  inspiring.  My  husband's  impatience  to  return 
to  Alabama  increased  daily,  stimulated,  as  it  was,  by 
the  ardour  of  our  many  correspondents  from  Montgomery 
and  Huntsville,  civil  and  military. 

"I  was  improving  continuously  and  rapidly,"  he  wrote 
to  our  friend  E.  D.  Tracy,  "when  Lincoln's  proclama- 
tion and  that  of  the  Governor  of  Minnesota  reached  me, 
and  I  think  I  should  have  been  entirely  restored  to  health 
in  a  month  or  two  had  I  remained  there  with  an  easy 
conscience  and  a  quiet  mind.  But  after  those  bulletins, 
the  demonstrations  against  the  "Rebels"  were  so  offen- 
sive as  to  become  intolerable.  So  we  left  on  the  2 2d 
[April],  much  to  the  regret  of  the  few  real  friends  we  found 
or  made.  Many,  with  exceeding  frankness,  expressed 
their  deep  sorrow  at  our  departure,  since  I  was  improv- 
ing so  rapidly;  but,  while  appreciating  their  solicitude 
for  me,  I  told  them  I  preferred  dying  in  my  own  country 
to  living  among  her  enemies." 

Shortly  after  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  Lake  Minne- 
tonka,  we  bade  farewell  to  the  good  Samaritans  at  St. 
Paul  and  took  passage  on  the  Grey  Eagle.  She  was  a 
celebrated  boat  of  that  day,  and  annually  took  the  prize 


1 56  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

for  being  the  first  to  cut  through  the  frozen  waters.  I 
have  never  forgotten  the  wonders  and  beauties  of  that 
trip,  beginning  in  the  still  partially  ice -locked  lake,  and 
progressing  gradually  until  the  emerald  glories  of  late 
April  met  us  in  the  South  !  It  was  on  this  journey  that  we 
caught  the  first  real  echoes  of  the  booming  guns  of  Fort 
Sumter.  The  passengers  on  board  the  Grey  Eagle  dis- 
cussed the  outlook  with  gravity.  To  a  friendly  lady, 
whose  sympathies  were  aroused  on  behalf  of  my  husband, 
still  pale  and  obviously  an  invalid,  I  remember  express- 
ing my  sorrows  and  fears.  I  think  I  wept,  for  it  was  a 
time  to  start  the  tears;  but  her  reply  checked  my  com- 
plainings. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Clay!"  she  said,  "think  how  my  heart  is 
riven  !  I  was  born  in  New  Orleans  and  live  in  New  York. 
One  of  my  sons  is  in  the  Seventh  New  York  Regiment, 
and  another  in  the  New  Orleans  Zouaves  !" 

At  Cairo,  already  a  great  centre  of  military  activity 
for  the  Federals,  we  caught  a  first  gleam  of  the  muskets 
of  United  States  soldiery.  A  company  was  drawn  up  in 
line  on  the  river  bank,  for  what  purpose  we  did  not 
know,  but  we  heard  a  rumour  that  it  had  to  do  with  the 
presence  on  the  boat  of  the  Southern  Senator  Clay,  and 
I  remember  I  was  requested  by  an  officer  of  the  Grey 
Eagle  to  place  in  my  trunk  my  husband's  fine  Maynard 
rifle,  which  had  been  much  admired  by  our  fellow  pas- 
sengers, and  which  once  had  been  shot  off  during  the 
trip,  to  show  its  wonderful  carrying  power.  Needless 
to  say,  the  possibly  offending  firearm  was  promptly  put 
away.  After  a  short  colloquy  between  the  captain 
of  the  vessel  and  the  military  officer,  who  appeared  to 
catechise  him,  the  Grey  Eagle  again  swung  out  on  the 
broad,  muddy  river,  and  turned  her  nose  toward  Memphis. 
Now,  as  we  proceeded  down  the  important  water-course, 
at  many  a  point  were  multiplying  evidences  that  the 
fratricidal  war  had  begun. 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  157 

Memphis,  at  which  we  soon  arrived,  and  which  was 
destined  within  a  year  to  be  taken  and  held  by  our 
enemy,  was  now  beautiful  with  blossoms.  Spirea  and 
bridal  wreaths  whitened  the  bushes,  and  roses  every- 
where shaking  their  fragrance  to  the  breezes  made  the 
world  appear  to  smile.  My  heart  was  filled  with  gratitude 
and  joy  to  find  myself  once  more  among  the  witchery 
and  wonders  of  my  "  ain  countree  " ;  where  again  I  might 
hear  the  delightful  mockery  of  that  "  Yorick  of  the 
Glade,"  whose  bubbling  melody  is  only  to  be  heard  in 
the  South  land !  It  was  a  wonderful  home-coming  for 
our  invalid,  too  eager  by  much  to  assume  his  share  of 
the  responsibilities  that  now  rested  upon  the  shoulders 
of  our  men  of  the  South.  A  period  of  complete  physical 
weakness  followed  our  arrival  in  Mr.  Clay's  native  city, 
a  busy  political  and  military  centre  in  those  early  days. 

We  spent  our  summer  in  "Cosy  Cot,"  our  mountain 
home,  set  upon  the  crest  of  Monte  Sano,  which  over- 
looks the  town  of  Huntsville  below,  distant  about  three 
miles;  nor,  save  in  the  making  of  comparatively  short 
trips,  did  we  again  leave  this  vicinity  until  Mr.  Clay, 
his  health  improved,  was  called  to  take  his  seat  in  the 
Senate  of  the  new  Confederate  Government,  at  Richmond, 
late  in  the  following  autumn.  In  the  meantime  Senator 
Clay  had  declined  the  office  of  Secretary  of  War  in  Mr. 
Davis's  Cabinet,  privately  proffered,  believing  his  phys- 
ical condition  to  be  such  as  to  render  his  assumption  of 
the  duties  of  that  department  an  impossibility.  In  his 
stead  he  had  urged  the  appointment  of  Leroy  Pope 
Walker,  our  fellow-townsman  and  long-time  friend, 
though  often  a  legal  and  political  opponent  of  my  husband. 

Now,  at  the  time  of  our  return,  Secretary  Walker  was 
at  the  side  of  our  Executive  head,  deep  in  the  problems 
of  the  military  control  of  our  forces.  Communications 
between  Huntsville  and  Montgomery,  where  the  pro- 
visional Government  temporarily  was  established,  were 


158  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

frequent.  A  special  session  of  Congress  was  sitting,  and 
every  one  identified  with  our  newly  formed  Legislature 
at  the  little  capital  was  alert  and  eager  in  perfecting  our 
plans  for  defense.  We  were  given  a  side  glimpse  of  our 
President's  personal  activity  in  the  following  letter 
received   a   few   days   after   our   return   to   Alabama: 

"Montgomery,  Alabama,  May  10,  1861. 

".  .  .  Mr.  Davis  seems  just  now  only  conscious  of 
things  left  undone,  and  to  ignore  the  much  which  has  been 
achieved.  Consequently,  his  time  seems  all  taken  up  with 
the  Cabinet,  planning  (I  presume)  future  operations. 
Sometimes  the  Cabinet  depart  surreptitiously,  one  at  a  time, 
and  Mr.  Davis,  while  making  things  as  plain  as  did  the 
preacher  the  virtues  of  the  baptismal,  finds  his  demonstra- 
tions made  to  one  weak,  weary  man,  who  has  no  vim  to 
contend.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  he  overworks  himself 
and  all  the  rest  of  mankind,  but  is  so  far  quite  well,  though 
not  fleshily  inclined. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  talk  here  of  his  going  to  Richmond 
as  commander  of  the  forces.  I  hope  it  may  be  done,  for  to 
him  military  command  is  a  perfect  system  of  hygiene. 
There  have  been  some  here  who  thought,  with  a  view  to  the 
sanitary  condition,  that  the  Government  had  better  be  moved 
to  Richmond,  and  also  that  it  would  strengthen  the  weak- 
fleshed  but  willing-spirited  border  States.  .  .  .  This  is 
a  very  pretty  place,  and,  were  not  the  climate  as  warm  as 
is  the  temperament  of  the  people,  it  would  be  pleasant;  but 
nearly  all  my  patriotism  oozes  out,  not  unlike  Bob  Acres' 
courage,  at  the  pores,  and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Roman  matrons  performed  their  patriotism  and  such  like 
duties  in  the  winter.  I  wish  your  health  would  suffice  for  you 
to  come  and  see  the  Congress.  They  are  the  finest-looking  set 
of  men  I  have  ever  seen  collected  together — grave,  quiet  and 
thoughtful-looking  men,  with  an  air  of  refinement  which 
makes  my  mind's  picture  gallery  a  gratifying  pendant  to 
Hamlin,   Durkee,   Doolittle,   Chandler,   etc. 

"The  market  is  forlorn,  but  then  we  give  our  best  and  a 
warm  welcome.  If  you  are  able  to  come  and  make  us  a  visit, 
we  will  have  the  concordances  of  Washington  and  Mont- 
gomery. .  .  .  Mrs.  Mallory  is  in  town  on  a  short  visit, 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  and  the  Governor,  Mrs.  Memminger,  Consti- 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  159 

tution  Brown  and  his  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Toombs  (the  latter 
is  the  only  person  who  has  a  house).  I  could  gossip  on  ad 
infinitum. 

In  Huntsville  a  feeling  of  diligence  in  preparation  was 
everywhere  evident.  Our  historic  little  town  was  not 
only  in  the  direct  line  of  travel  between  larger  cities,  and 
therefore  a  natural  stopping  place  for  travellers ;  but,  by 
reason  of  the  many  legal  and  political  lights  residing 
there,  and  because  of  its  being  the  county  seat  of  one 
of  the  most  affluent  counties  in  northern  Alabama,  was, 
and  is,  a  town  of  general  interest  throughout  the  State. 
Almost  in  an  unbroken  line,  the  United  States  Senators 
of  northern  Alabama  have  been  citizens  of  my  husband's 
native  town. 

Situate  among  the  low  hills  that  separate  the  higher 
points  of  the  Cumberland  range,  Huntsville  smiles  up  at 
the  sky  from  a  rare  amphitheatre,  hollowed  in  the  cedar- 
covered  mountains.  It  is  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  most 
fertile  portions  of  the  Tennessee  Valley.  Within  an 
hour's  swift  ride,  the  Tennessee  flood  rolls  on  its  romantic 
way,  and  as  near  in  another  direction  is  the  forked 
Flint  River,  every  bend  along  its  leafy  edges  a  place  of 
beauty.  Up  hill  and  down  dale,  ride  wherever  one  will, 
may  be  seen  the  hazy  tops  of  mountains,  disappearing  in 
the  blue  ether,  and  intervening  valleys  yellow  with  corn 
or  white  with  cotton,  or  green  with  the  just  risen  grain. 
In  the  summer  the  sweetness  of  magnolia  and  jasmine,  of 
honeysuckle  and  mimosa,  scents  the  shady  avenues 
along  which  are  seen,  beyond  gardens  and  magnolia 
trees,  the  commodious  town  houses  of  the  prosperous 
planters.  Among  these  affluent  surroundings  a  high 
public  spirit  had  been  nourished.  Here  the  first  State 
Legislature  of  Alabama  was  convened  and  that  body 
met  which  formed  the  State  Constitution.  The  simple 
structure  in  which  those  early  statesmen  gathered 
(being,  in  general,  representatives  from  the  families  of 


i6o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Virginia  and  the  Carolinas)  stood  yet  intact  in  the  early 
part  of  1903.  The  first  newspaper  printed  in  Alabama, 
yclept  the  Madison  Gazette,  was  published  in  Huntsville, 
and  Green  Academy  (taking  its  name  from  the  rich 
sward  that  surrounded  it),  a  renowned  institution  of 
learning,  was  long  a  famous  feature  of  Twickenham 
Town,  by  which  name  Huntsville  was  once  known. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  township's  existence,  a  hot 
contest  continued  for  years  to  wage  between  the  followers 
of  two  of  its  richest  settlers  as  to  the  future  appellation  of 
the  pretty  place.  The  friends  of  Colonel  Pope,  who  had 
contributed  from  the  very  centre  of  his  plantation  the 
square  upon  which  was  built  the  County  Court  House,  for  a 
time  overbore  the  opposing  parties  and  named  the  town  in 
honour  of  the  birthplace  of  the  immortal  poet ;  but,  though 
this  choice  was  ratified  by  legislative  act,  the  adherents  of 
the  pioneer,  John  Hunt,  refused  to  yield  their  wishes. 
Mr.  Hunt  had  discovered  the  site  of  the  town  while  still 
the  valley  was  part  of  the  Territory  of  Mississippi.  Lured 
by  the  deer  he  was  stalking,  he  had  come  upon  the  big 
spring,  gushing  with  limpid  waters.  Here  he  pitched 
his  tent,  and,  gathering  others  about  him,  he  fostered 
the  building  of  the  town  which,  until  the  contest  that 
arose  with  the  aristocratic  Colonel  Pope,  was  known 
as  Huntsville.  For  two  years,  until  the  original  name 
was  restored  by  a  second  act  of  Legislature,  the  little 
city  was  known  as  "Twickingham  Town,"  and  to  many 
of  its  old  families  this  name  remains  so  dear  that  among 
themselves  it  still  continues  to  be  affectionately  applied. 

Half  the  youth  of  Alabama  in  that  early  day  delved 
in  the  classics  under  the  guidance  of  the  studious  pro- 
fessors of  Green  Academy.  It  was  situated  in  a  large  plot 
of  ground  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  mountain. 
Its  site  was  given  to  the  town  by  Judge  William  Smith 
(the  warm  friend  of  Andrew  Jackson)  on  the  condition 
that  it  should  be  used  only  for  a  building  for  educational 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  161 

purposes  forever.  This  distinguished  judge  was,  I 
think,  the  only  man  until  Roscoe  Conkling  to  refuse  a 
seat  on  the  Supreme  Court  Bench  of  the  United  States.* 
The  charms  and  fascinations  and  general  winsomeness 
of  the  girls  of  the  lovely  vale,  even  in  that  early  period, 
in  a  measure  may  be  imagined  from  the  references  to 
them  in  the  following  letter,  written  to  Clement  C.  Clay, 
Jr.,  by  this  time  entered  at  the  State  University  at 
Tuscaloosa : 

"February  2,  1833. 
"My  Dear  Clement:  Richard  Peete,  Jere  Clemens,  Richard 
Perkins,  Withers  Clay,  John  E.  Mooref  and  myself  are  in  a 
class  reading  Horace  and  Graeca  Majora.  Clio  is  nearly 
broken  up,  and  I  fear  it  will  never  be  revived,  as  the  members 
do  nothing  but  walk  with  the  girls,  nor  do  they  appear  to 
think  of  anything  else.  The  girls  in  this  town  are  the  most 
jealous  little  vixens  that  ever  breathed.  I  would  advise  you 
as  a  friend  (for  I  have  gone  through  the  fiery  ordeal,  and 
should  know  something  of  the  character  of  woman)  to  keep 
a  respectful  distance  from  the  fair  ones;  for,  if  you  mingle 
with  them  at  all,  you  will  be  persuaded  to  mingle  with  them 
more  and  more.  How  much  I  would  give  if  they  would 
never  harass  me  more!" 

The  roll  of  Huntsville's  prominent  men  includes  a 
peculiarly  large  number  of  names  that  have  been  potent 
in  State  and  National  capitals,  in  civil  and  in  military 
life.  Scarcely  a  stone  in  its  picturesque  "God's  Acre" 
but  bears  a  name  familiar  to  the  Southern  ear.  From 
under  the  low  hill  on  which  the  columned  Court  House 
and  historic  National  Bank  building  stand,  the  Big 
Spring  gushes,  which  has  had  its  part  in  swelling  the  city's 

*  Judge  Smith  was  the  grandfather  of  Mrs.  Meredith  Calhoun,  who, 
with  her  husband,  played  a  brilliant  part  in  Paris  society  when  Eugenie's 
triumphs  were  at  their  height.     A.  S. 

t  John  E.  Moore  became  celebrated  on  the  bench.  He  declined  the 
office  of  territorial  judge,  offered  him  by  President  Pierce,  but  was 
serving  as  judge  in  a  military  court  when  he  died,  in  1S64.  He  was  a 
brother  of  Colonel  Sydenham  Moore,  who  fell  at  the  battle  of  Seven 
Pines.     A.  S. 


i62  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

fame.  Where  its  source  lies  none  can  say,  though 
myths  are  plenty  that  tell  of  subterranean  caves  through 
which  it  passes,  and  which  gleam  with  stalactite  glories. 
Trickling  freely  from  the  sides  of  the  mountain  beyond 
are  numerous  medicinal  springs,  and  silver  streams 
thread  their  way  among  the  valleys ;  but  nowhere  within 
the  Tennessee  region  exists  a  flow  that  at  all  may 
be  compared  with  Huntsville's  "  Big  Spring."  If  Hygeia 
still  exercises  her  functions,  her  modern  home  is  surely 
here.  The  flow  of  clear  limestone  water  as  it  issues  from 
the  rocks  is  wonderfully  full  and  seemingly  boundless. 
Since  the  founding  of  the  town  the  spring  has  supplied 
all  the  needs  of  the  residents,  and  that  of  armies  camped 
about  it.  So  late  as  1898  its  splendid  daily  yield  of 
twenty-four  million  gallons  influenced  the  present  Govern- 
ment to  locate  in  and  about  the  pretty  city,  while 
awaiting  the  development  of  the  Cuban  War,  an  army 
of  twenty  thousand  men. 

In  the  sixties  the  spring  was  already  famous.  From 
time  immemorial  the  pool  below  it  had  served  the  same 
purpose  for  the  negroes  about  as  did  the  River  Jordan 
for  the  earlier  Christians,  and  a  baptism  at  the  Big 
Spring,  both  impressive  and  ludicrous,  was  a  sight  never 
to  be  forgotten.  The  negroes  came  down  the  hill, 
marching  with  solemn  steps  to  weird  strains  of  their  own 
composing,  until  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  stream 
that  forms  below  the  spring.  Here  the  eager  candidates 
for  immersion  were  led  into  the  water,  when,  doused  for 
a  moment,  they  would  come  up  again  shrieking  shrilly 
a  fervent  Hallelujah  !  As  a  rule,  two  companions  were 
stationed  near  to  seize  the  person  of  the  baptised 
one  as  it  rose,  lest  in  a  paroxysm  of  religious  fervour  he 
should  harm  himself  or  others.  As  the  baptisms,  always 
numerous,  continued,  the  ardour  of  the  crowd  of  partici- 
pants and  onlookers  was  sure  to  augment,  until  a  mani- 
acal   mingling   of  voices  followed,   that  verged  toward 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  163 

pandemonium.  The  ceremony  was  as  strange  and  blood- 
curdling as  any  rite  that  might  be  imagined  in  the  interior 
of  the  Dark  Continent. 

Once,  upon  the  occasion  of  a  visit  of  two  New  York 
friends,  one  candidate  for  baptism,  a  black  man,  a 
veritable  Goliath,  broke  loose  from  those  who  tried  to 
hold  him  and  ran  up  the  hill  in  his  ecstasy,  bellowing 
like  a  wounded  buffalo.  The  sounds  were  enough  to 
excite  unmixed  horror  in  the  unaccustomed  listener,  but 
the  appearance  of  the  enthusiast  to  me  was  more  comical 
than  terrifying;  for,  being  in  his  stockings,  and  these 
conspicuous  by  reason  of  their  enormous  holes,  his  heels, 
revealed  at  every  step,  appeared  as  they  flashed  up  the 
acclivity  like  the  spots  on  a  bull-bat's  wings.  When 
this  sable  son  of  Anak  took  the  field,  the  spectators 
scattering  right  and  left,  my  friends  turned  toward  me  as 
if  panic-stricken.  They  paused  but  a  brief  moment,  then, 
"standing  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going,"  they,  too, 
fled  from  the  possible  charge  of  the  half -crazed  enthusiast. 
It  was  no  uncommon  thing  at  such  baptisms  for  the 
candidates  to  suffer  from  an  attack  of  "Jerks,"  a  kind  of 
spasm  which  resulted  from  their  excited  imaginations. 
I  have  seen  the  strength  of  four  stout  men  tested  to  its 
utmost  to  hold  down  one  seemingly  delicate  negress,  who, 
fired  by  the  "glory  in  her  soul,"  was  now  become  its 
victim,  jerking  and  screaming  in  a  manner  altogether 
horrible  to  witness. 

Above  the  spring  and  about  the  picturesque  Square 
and  Court  House,  in  the  spring  and  early  summer  of  '61, 
the  gay-hearted  youth  of  Madison  County,  thronging  to 
the  county  seat,  met  in  companies  to  drill  and  prepare 
themselves  for  service  in  the  war  now  upon  us.  Already, 
by  the  early  part  of  June,  Alabama  had  "contributed 
to  the  Confederacy  about  20,000  muskets  and  rifles," 
though  she  retained  of  these,  "for  her  own  immediate 
protection  and  defense,  only  four  thousand!     I  hope," 


i64  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

wrote  Governor  A.  B.  Moore,  in  sending  this  information 
to  Mr.  Clay,  "that  volunteer  companies  throughout  the 
State  will  put  the  rifles  and  double-barrelled  shot-guns  in 
order,  and  drill  them  until  called  into  actual  service." 

The  youths  and  men  of  Madison  County  needed  small 
urging.  They  were  heart  and  soul  for  the  conflict  that 
at  last  must  be  waged  to  preserve  the  homes  of  their 
fathers,  the  heritages  that  were  to  be  theirs,  and  their 
right  to  independent  government.  These  were  the 
incentives  of  our  soldiers,  allied  to  each  other,  regiment 
by  regiment,  by  blood  and  long  association.  There 
was  no  need  for  alien  hirelings  to  swell  our  ranks.  The 
questions  at  issue  were  vital,  and  every  Southern  man 
who  could  bear  arms  sprang  eagerly  to  assume  them. 

Upon  our  arrival  in  Huntsville  we  found  the  city 
alive  with  preparations  for  defense,  our  mail  heavy 
with  reports  from  every  quarter  of  the  South,  of  friends 
and  kinsmen  who  had  entered  the  army,  and  many 
exhilarated  by  the  battles  already  won.  An  idea  may 
be  gathered  of  the  confluent  interests  that  bound  together 
our  Southern  army,  by  a  mention,  as  an  example,  by  no 
means  unique,  of  the  ramifications  of  the  two  families 
represented  by  Senator  Clay  and  myself.  My  husband's 
uncle,  General  Withers,  was  already  in  command  at 
Mobile;  his  brother,  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  was  in  Lynch- 
burg, recruiting;  his  cousin,  Eli  S.  Shorter,  was  enrolled  as 
Colonel  in  the  C.  S.  A.,  besides  whom  there  were  enlisted 
numerous  cousins  of  the  Withers,  Comer,  and  Clayton 
families.  Thirty-nine  cousins  of  my  own,  bearing  the 
name  of  Williams,  were  in  the  field  at  one  time,  and 
innumerable  Arlingtons,  Drakes  and  Boddies,  Hilliards, 
Tunstalls  and  Battles  served  the  beloved  cause  in  various 
capacities  in  civil  and  military  life. 

These  conditions  knit  neighbourhoods  as  well  as 
regiments  very  closely  together,  and  largely  go  to  furnish 
an  explanation  of  our  long  struggle  against  the  numerically 


L.  Q.  C.  LAMAR 
1862 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  165 

superior  armies  of  our  invaders.  Our  victories  in  those 
early  days  were  great,  though  the  blood  spilled  to  gain 
them  was  precious;  but  the  sound  of  mourning  was 
stilled  before  the  greater  need  for  encouragement  to  the 
living.  "Beauregard  and  Johnston  have  given  the 
fanatics  something  to  meditate  upon,"  wrote  a  cousin 
in  July  of  '61.  "A  despatch  says  that  our  loss  was 
three  thousand,  theirs  seven  thousand.  Steady  Beaure- 
gard and  brave  Johnston  !     We  owe  them  our  gratitude  ! ' ' 

Yes !  we  owed  them  gratitude  and  we  gave  it  to  them 
and  to  every  man  in  the  ranks.  The  women  at  home 
knitted  and  sewed,  sacrificed  and  prayed,  and  wept,  too, 
especially  the  aged,  as  they  packed  away  the  socks  and 
underwear  and  such  comforts  for  the  young  men  in  the 
field  as  might  be  pressed  into  a  soldier's  knapsack.  "  I 
met  Mr.  Lamar's  mother,"  wrote  my  sister  from  Macon, 
late  in  May,  "and  spoke  to  her  of  her  son's  having  gone 
to  Montgomery.  She  had  not  heard  of  it  before  and 
burst  into  tears !  This  is  her  fourth  and  last  son  gone 
to  the  war  ! ' ' 

From  Huntsville  had  gone  out  the  gallant  E.  D.  Tracy, 
who,  now  at  Harper's  Ferry,  wrote  back  most  thrilling 
accounts  of  military  proceedings  in  that  important 
section  of  our  Confederate  States : 

"I  continue  entirely  well,"  began  a  letter  dated  from 
Camp,  near  Harper's  Ferry,  June  8,  1861 :  "And,  while  I 
perfectly  agree  with,  since  conversing  with,  General  Smith, 
in  regard  to  our  situation,  am  in  good  spirits.  I  trust  I 
am  ready  to  die  when  my  hour  comes,  as  becomes  a 
Christian  soldier  and  gentleman;  until  that  hour,  I  am 
proof  against  shell  and  shot.  If  the  enemy  attacks  us 
'  we'll  memorise  another  Golgotha '  and  achieve  a  victory, 
or  martyrdom.  Our  men  believe  the  post  to  be  im- 
pregnable and  are  anxious  for  fight ;  if  they  were  better 
informed,  I  have  no  idea  that  their  courage  would  be 
in  the  least  abated. 


166  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"From  the  arrival  of  troops  during  the  last  few  days, 
I  conclude  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  Government  to  hold 
Harper's  Ferry.  At  one  time  I  think  that  point  was 
undecided,  and  am  glad  to  believe  that  it  is  now  settled 
as  stated.  The  moral  effect  of  an  evacuation  of  a  place 
believed  to  be  a  Gibraltar  would  be  terribly  disastrous 
to  our  cause;  it  would  encourage  our  enemies,  depress 
our  troops,  and  disappoint  the  expectation  of  the  world. 
Better  that  we  perish  in  making  a  gallant  defense  than 
that  such  consequences  should  be  risked." 

My  sister,  Mrs.  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  who  had  joined  her 
husband  in  Lynchburg,  wrote  buoyantly,  yet  gravely, 
from  that  troubled  centre:  "I  wrote  you  a  long,  long 
letter  last  Saturday,"  begins  one  epistle  from  her,  "but 
Mr.  Clay  would  not  let  me  send  it,  because,  he  said,  I 
told  too  much.  He  was  afraid  it  might  be  read  by  other 
eyes  than  yours.  ...  I  look  hourly  to  hear  the 
result  of  an  awful  battle.  I  cannot  but  fear,  for  we 
cannot  hope  to  gain  such  victories  often  as  the  one  at 
Bethel  Church.  .  .  .  Here  we  hear  everything,  for 
there  are  persons  passing  all  the  time  to  and  from  Win- 
chester and  Manassas  Junction.  So  many  men  from 
this  place  are  stationed  there  that  mothers  and  sisters 
manage  to  hear  every  day.  Mr.  Tracy  wrote  in  his  last 
that  he  fully  expected  to  be  in  a  big  battle.  His  men 
were  eager  for  the  fight,  and  he  would  be  sure  to  write 
as  to  the  result,  if  it  did  not  result  in  a  termination  of 
his  life's  candle !" 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  opening  of  Congress  in 
Richmond,  Mr.  Clay's  health,  spurred  to  a  better  state 
by  an  eager  patriotism,  eager  to  express  itself  in  the 
forum  if  debarred  from  the  field,  became  appreciably 
restored,  and  preparations  were  begun  for  an  absence 
of  a  few  months  from  Hunts ville.  Anxious  as  everyone 
was  throughout  the  South,  and  feeling  the  strain  even  of 
victory,  now  flowing  toward  us  and  again  ebbing  to  our 


MRS.  PHILIP  PHILLIPS 
of  Washington,  D.  C. 


WAR  IS  PROCLAIMED  167 

enemies,  my  husband  and  I  had  few  misgivings  concerning 
the  safety  of  the  home  we  were  leaving.  A  hundred 
greater  dangers  surrounded  Richmond  (as  it  was  thought) , 
that  lay  so  near  to  the  Federal  lines  and  was  the  prize 
above  all  others  which  we  looked  to  see  grappled  for. 
Yet  our  field  lay  there,  and,  in  anticipation,  it  seemed 
a  pleasant  and  an  active  one,  for  already  it  was  peopled 
with  throngs  of  our  former  friends. 

"I  almost  imagined  myself  in  Washington,"  wrote 
Mrs.  Philip  Phillips,  now  returning  from  the  Federal 
capital,  where  for  months  she  had  been  a  prisoner. 
"There  are  so  many  dear,  old  friends  [in  Richmond] — 
Mrs.  Mallory,  Mrs.  Joe  Johnston,  and  others — awaited 
us  at  the  Spottswood  Hotel.  I  spent  an  evening  with 
Mrs.  Davis,  who  received  me  with  great  feeling.  .  .  . 
We  have  a  terrible  struggle  before  us.  The  resources  of 
Lincoln's  army  are  great,  and  a  defensive  war  will  prove 
our  greatest  safeguard,  but,  it  is  presumption  in  speaking 
thus;  only,  having  come  so  recently  from  the  seat  of 
war,  my  ideas,  founded  upon  practical  knowledge  of 
what  is  going  on  at  the  North,  may  derive  some  value. 
I  brought  on  from  Washington,  sewed  in  my  corsets,  a 
programme  of  the  war  sent  to  me  by  a  Federal  officer, 
many  of  whom  are  disaffected.  The  capitalists  of  the 
North  demand  a  decisive  blow,  else  they  will  not  back 
the  Government." 


CHAPTER   XII 

Richmond  as  a  National  Capital 

Richmond,  as  seen  from  the  hill,  with  the  James 
River  flowing  by,  its  broad,  level  streets,  full  foliaged 
trees,  and  spacious  homes,  is  a  beautiful  city.  Rich  in 
historic  association,  never  did  it  appear  more  attractive 
to  Southern  eyes  than  when,  arriving  in  the  late  autumn 
of  '6 1,  we  found  our  Confederate  Government  established 
there,  and  the  air  full  of  activity.  To  accommodate  the 
influx  of  Congressional  and  military  folk,  the  houses  of 
the  patriotic  residents  were  thrown  open,  until  the 
capacity  of  every  residence,  hotel  and  lodging-house  was 
tested  to  the  fullest.  By  the  time  Senator  Clay  and  I 
arrived,  there  was  scarcely  an  extra  bed  to  be  had  in 
the  city,  and  though  everywhere  it  was  apparent  that  an 
unsettled  feeling  existed,  there  was  nothing  either  inde- 
terminate or  volatile  in  the  zeal  with  which  the  dense 
community  was  fired.  As  the  new-comers,  for  the 
greater  part,  represented  families  which  a  season  before 
had  been  conspicuous  in  Washington,  society  was  in  the 
most  buoyant  of  spirits.  Our  courage  was  high,  for 
our  army  had  won  glorious  battles  against  remarkable 
odds,  and,  though  gallant  men  had  fallen,  as  occasion 
demanded  them,  new  heroes  sprang  to  meet  it. 

For  a  few  months  we  revelled  in  canvas-backs  and 
green-backs,  undisturbed  by  forewarnings  of  coming 
draw-backs.  To  furnish  the  tables  of  Richmond  nearly 
all  the  ducks  in  Chesapeake  Bay  fell  victims.  We 
feasted  on  oysters  and  terrapin  of  the  finest,  and  un- 
measured hospitality  was  the  order  of  the  day  on  every 

168 


RICHMOND  AS  A  NATIONAL  CAPITAL     169 

side.  Never  had  I  looked  upon  so  great  an  activity, 
whether  military,  political,  or  social.  I  had  demurred 
when,  as  we  were  about  to  start  for  the  capital,  my 
maid  packed  an  evening  dress  or  two. 

"We  are  going  to  war,  Emily,"  I  said;  "we  shall  have 
no  need  for  velvet  or  jewels.  We  are  going  to  nurse  the 
sick;  not  to  dress  and  dance."  But  Emily's  ardour  on 
my  behalf  led  her  to  rebel. 

"There's  bound  to  be  somethin'  goin'  on,  Miss  '  Ginie,'  " 
she  declared,  "an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  let  my  Mistis  be  out- 
shined  by  Mis'  an'  dem  other  ladies!"  And,  de- 
spite my  protests,  the  gowns  were  duly  packed.  There 
were  many  occasions  afterward  when  I  blessed  the 
thoughtfulness  of  my  little  gingerbread-tinted  maid; 
for  there  were  heroes  to  dine  and  to  cheer  in  Richmond, 
both  civil  and  military,  and  sombre  garments  are  a  sorry 
garb  in  which  to  greet  or  brighten  the  thoughts  of  men 
tired  with  the  strain  of  building  or  fighting  for  a  govern- 
ment. 

A  sororal  spirit  actuated  our  women,  and  while  our 
greatest  entertainment  missed  some  of  the  mere  display 
which  had  marked  the  social  events  in  the  Federal  City, 
they  were  happier  gatherings,  for  we  were  a  people  united 
in  interest  and  in  heart.  Some  of  the  brightest  memories 
I  carry  of  that  first  session  are  of  informal  evenings 
where  neighbours  gathered  sans  ceremonie.  I  recall  one 
such  spent  at  the  home  of  the  Mallorys,  the  occasion 
being  a  dinner  given  to  Brigadier  General  John  H. 
Morgan,  who  did  the  Confederacy  such  gallant  service, 
and  was  rewarded  while  in  Richmond  by  the  hand  of  one 
of  its  prettiest  daughters,  Miss  Reedy,  who  had  been 
a  favourite  in  Washington  society.  A  daughter  of 
Mr.  Reedy,  M.C.,  from  Tennessee,  she  was  the  first  girl 
of  her  day  in  Washington  to  wear  a  curl  upon  her  fore- 
head, which  coquettish  item  of  coiffure  was  soon  imitated 
by  a  hundred  others. 


170  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

The  family  of  Mr.  Mallory  was  a  model  one,  every 
member  seeming  to  have  his  or  her  share  in  rounding  out 
the  general  attractiveness.  An  informal  meal  taken 
with  that  family  was  an  experience  long  to  be  remembered, 
for  the  little  children  took  each  his  turn  in  asking  the 
blessing,  which  was  never  omitted,  and  which  was 
especially  impressive  in  those  days,  in  which  the  shadows 
of  growing  privations  soon  grew  to  be  recognised  if  not 
openly  discussed  or  admitted.  Our  Secretary  of  the 
Navy,  Mr.  Mallory,  was  the  merriest  of  hosts,  with  a 
wit  as  sudden  and  as  brilliant  as  sheet-lightning,  and 
a  power  of  summing  up,  when  he  chose  to  exert  it,  both 
events  and  people,  in  the  most  amusing  manner.  A 
picture  remains  clearly  in  my  mind  of  the  evening  devoted 
to  General  Morgan.  Ruby  Mallory,  then  about  thirteen 
years  of  age,  recited  for  us  Holmes's  "The  Punch-bowl," 
while  our  host,  in  hearty  enjoyment  of  the  verses, 

"Stirred  the  posset  with  his  ladle," 

to  the  rhythm  of  his  little  daughter's  speech. 

During  our  first  winter  in  Richmond  my  husband  and 
I  made  our  home  with  Mrs.  Du  Val,  near  to  the  Exchange 
Hotel,  a  terrifically  over-crowded  hostelry  at  all  Con- 
federate times,  and  within  a  short  walk  of  the  Seddon 
home,  now  the  Executive  Mansion.  It  was  a  com- 
modious and  stately  structure,  in  which  our  President, 
now  domiciled,  lived  with  an  admirable  disdain  of  display. 
Statesmen  passing  through  the  halls  on  their  way  to  the 
discussion  of  weighty  things  were  likely  to  hear  the 
ringing  laughter  of  the  care-free  and  happy  Davis  children 
issuing  from  somewhere  above  stairs  or  the  gardens. 
The  circle  at  Mrs.  Du  Val's,  our  headquarters,  as  it  came 
and  went  for  three  eventful  years,  comprised  some  of  our 
former  Washington  mess-mates,  and  others  newly  called 
into  public  service.  Among  the  favourites  was  General 
J.  E.  B.  Stuart,  a  rollicking  fellow,  who  loved  music,  and 


RICHMOND  AS  A  NATIONAL  CAPITAL     171 

himself  could  sing  a  most  pleasing  ballad.  He  was 
wont  to  dash  up  to  the  gate  on  his  horse,  his  plumes 
waving,  and  he  appearing  to  our  hopeful  eyes  a  veritable 
Murat.  He  was  a  gallant  soldier,  what  might  be  termed 
delightful  company,  and  one  of  the  most  daring  cavalry 
officers  our  service  boasted.  Twice,  with  comparatively 
but  a  handful  of  men,  he  circled  McClellan's  big,  un- 
wieldly  force  as  it  lay  massed,  for  months  at  a  time, 
contemplating  the  possibility  of  closing  in  upon  our 
capital.  It  may  be  said  that  upon  his  return  to  Rich- 
mond after  his  first  brilliant  feat,  General  Stuart  was 
the  idol  of  the  hour.  When  the  exigencies  of  the 
service  brought  him  again  and  again  to  the  capital, 
he  entered  heartily  into  its  social  relaxations.  Two 
years  passed.  He  was  conspicuous  one  night  in  charades, 
and  the  next  they  brought  him  in,  dying  from  a  ghastly 
wound  received  upon  the  battle-field. 

I  have  said  we  were  in  gay  spirits  during  that  first 
session  of  the  Confederate  Congress;  but  this  condition 
was  resolved  upon  rather  than  the  spontaneous  expression 
of  our  real  mood,  though  hope  was  strong  and  we  were 
armed  with  a  conviction  of  right  upon  our  side,  and  with 
the  assurance  of  the  courage  of  our  soldiers,  which  filled 
us  with  a  fine  feminine  scorn  of  the  mere  might  of  our 
assailants.  Our  editors,  filled  with  patriotism  and  alert, 
kept  us  informed  of  the  stirring  events  of  the  field  and  of 
the  great  victories  which,  until  the  loss  of  Fort  Donelson 
and  the  fall  of  Nashville,  so  often  stood  to  our  credit. 
Scarcely  a  triumph,  nevertheless,  in  which  was  not  borne 
down  some  friend  who  was  dear  to  us,  so  that  all  news 
of  victory  gained  might  be  matched  with  the  story  of 
fearful  loss.  However,  such  was  our  loyalty  to  the 
cause,  that  the  stimulus  of  our  victories  overbore  the 
sorrow  for  our  losses,  sustaining  our  courage  on  every 
side.  Before  that  first  session  of  Congress  adjourned, 
we  had  buried  an  army  of  brave  men,  among  them  Generals 


172  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Zollicoffer  and  Albert  Sidney  Johnston.  Our  coast  was 
closed  by  the  blockading  fleets  of  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment. We  had  lost  New  Orleans,  and  the  Tennessee 
Valley  was  slipping  from  us.  Hunts ville,  which  lay 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  invading  army,  itself  threat- 
ened, was  now  become  a  hospital  for  the  wounded  from 
abandoned  Nashville.  By  the  early  spring  the  news 
from  our  family  was  ominous  of  deeper  disaster  to  our 
beloved  town. 

"The  public  stores  have  been  sent  on  from  Nashville," 
wrote  mother,  early  in  March  of  '62,  from  Huntsville, 
"and  from  four  to  ten  thousand  men  are  said  to  be 
here  or  expected.  .  .  .  Yesterday  the  excitement 
was  greater  than  I  have  known.  Men  were  seen 
walking  or  riding  quickly,  and  martial  music  told  the 
tale  of  danger.  .  .  .  There  are  said  to  be  a  thou- 
sand sick  and  wounded  here.  They  have  no  bedding 
but  a  blanket,  and  are  placed  in  houses  through 
which  the  wind  blows.  Rain  spurts  over  the  sick  men's 
couches,  cooling  their  fever  and  making  their  blood 
congeal,  so  that  death  interposes  for  their  relief !  It  is 
rumoured  that  the  President  will  be  here  to-night. 
People  were  up  (last  night)  till  two  o'clock,  waiting  to 
see  him.     .     . 

General  Pillow  is  at  the  hotel,  but  told  Dr.  Slaugh- 
ter he  would  not  bring  Mrs.  Pillow  here,  as  General 
Buell  intends  to  make  this  place  his  headquarters ! 
.  .  .  I  have  no  time  to  speculate  on  the  future, 
but  try  to  encourage  others  to  have  courage  and  faith, 
and  not  to  discourage  our  soldiers  by  permitting  their 
fears  to  be  known;  but  to  stimulate  them  by  letting 
them  see  the  firmness  and  calm  trustfulness  with  which 
we  commit  more  than  our  lives  to  their  keeping  ! ' ' 

The  news  of  Huntsville's  danger  was  our  private 
anxiety  in  Richmond,  where  each  Senator  and  Congress- 
man carried  the  burden  of  apprehension  for  his  own  kin 


RICHMOND  AS  A  NATIONAL  CAPITAL     173 

and  family  possessions  well  concealed ;  for  at  the  capital 
the  nation's  losses  and  gains  loomed  large  and  obscured 
the  lesser  ones  of  individuals.  Moreover,  always  before  us 
was  the  stimulus  of  the  presence  of  fearless  men  and  the 
unceasing  energy  of  our  President. 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  seeing  President  Davis 
passing  down  the  street,  beside  him,  on  the  left,  General 
Buckner;  on  the  right,  General  Breckenridge — three 
stalwart  and  gallant  men  as  ever  walked  abreast; 
and  as  I  watched  them  the  thought  came  involun- 
tarily, "Can  a  cause  fail  with  such  men  at  the 
head?" 

Throughout  the  life  of  Richmond  as  a  capital,  the 
streets  were  peopled  with  soldiers  on  their  way  to  or  from 
the  several  headquarters.  There  was  an  unintermitting 
beating  of  drums,  too  often  muffled,  and  the  singing  of 
merry  bugles.  With  the  knowledge  that  we  were  in  the 
city  which,  more  than  any  other,  invited  and  defied  the 
attacks  of  the  enemy,  a  sense  of  danger  spurred  our  spirits. 
Though  the  boom  of  guns  was  often  not  a  distant  sound, 
and  the  solemn  carrying  in  of  our  wounded  became 
increasingly  frequent,  few  gave  way  to  apprehensions  or 
doubts;  for,  as  I  have  said,  there  were  heroes  in 
Richmond  to  cheer,  and  our  women,  putting  away  from 
their  minds  the  remembrance  of  the  wounds  they  had 
dressed  in  the  morning  visit  to  the  hospitals,  smiled  and 
devised  entertainments  well  calculated  to  lift  the  burden 
of  responsibility,  at  least  for  the  time  being,  from  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  our  leaders,  legislative  and  military. 
Among  the  most  active  hostesses  were  Mrs.  Randolph, 
wife  of  one  of  the  members  of  President  Davis's  Cabinet, 
and  Mrs.  Ives,  who  put  on  some  charming  private  theat- 
ricals in  their  parlours;  there  were  the  Lees  and  Harri- 
mans;  the  Ritchies  and  Pegrams  and  Welfords;  the 
Masons  and  Warwicks,  MacFarlanes,  Seldens,  Leighs 
(near  relatives,  these,  of  Patrick  Henry) ;     besides  the 


i74  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Branders,  West  Robinsons,  Walkers,  Scotts,  Coxes, 
Cabells,  Semmes,  Ives,  and  other  hostesses  of  renown  and 
long  pedigree,  whose  homes  dispensed  the  friendliest  hos- 
pitality. 

"  Do  you  not  remember?"  wrote  Mrs.  Semmes,  of  New 
Orleans,  to  whom  I  put  some  queries  concerning  an  episode 
of  that  life  in  Richmond,  "  do  you  not  remember  Mrs. 
Stannard,  who  had  such  a  charming  house  and  gave  such 
delicious  teas,  alluring  such  men  as  Soule,  Commodore 
Barrow,  Henry  Marshall,  of  Louisiana,  Butler  King,  and 
last,  though  not  least,  our  dear  old  Vice-President 
Stephens  ?  She  boasted  that  she  never  read  a  book,  and 
yet  all  these  distinguished  gentlemen  gathered  around 
her  board  and  ate  those  hot  muffins  and  broiled  chicken 
with  gusto ! " 
IS*  These,  and  unnumbered  other  faces,  rise  before  me  as 
I  recall  the  great  amateur  performance  of  "The  Rivals," 
which  made  that  first  winter  in  Richmond  memorable 
and  our  hostess,  Mrs.  Ives,  famous.  In  that  performance 
Constance  Cary,  a  beauty  of  the  Fairfax  family,  captured 
all  hearts  as  the  languishing  Lydia,  among  them  that  of 
our  President's  Secretary,  Colonel  Burton  Harrison,  whose 
wife  she  afterward  became. 

Recalling  that  interesting  evening,  Mrs.  Harrison 
wrote  very  recently,  "It  seems  an  aeon  since  that 
time,  but  I  have  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  the  fun 
we  had  and  of  how  prettily  Mrs.  Ives  did  everything, 
spite  of  grim-visaged  war  !  Flow  I  wish  I  could  do  any- 
thing now  with  the  same  zest  and  rapture  with  which 
I  put  on  Lydia's  paduasoy  and  patches  !  Brother  Clar- 
ence, then  a  very  youthful  midshipman,  was  the  Fag,  and 
my  hero,  Captain  Absolute,  was  Mr.  Lee  Tucker,  who  has 
vanished,  for  me,  into  the  mists  of  time  !  I  have  not  heard 
his  name  in  years  !  ' ' 

The  fame  of  that  entertainment,  the  excitement  which 
the  preparation  for  it  caused,  spread  far  beyond  the  picket 


RICHMOND  AS  A  NATIONAL  CAPITAL     175 

lines,  and  we  heard  afterward  that  a  daring  officer  of 
McClellan's  army  hadplanned  to  don  the  Confederate  uni- 
form and  cross  the  lines  to  take  a  peep  at  the  much- 
talked-of  performance.  "There  was  a  galaxy  of  talent 
and  beauty  in  that  fairest  city  of  the  South,"  writes  my 
friend,  Mrs.  Ives,  recalling,  in  1903,  those  scenes  of  the 
early  sixties,  "from  which  I  was  able  to  select  a  strong 
cast  which  pre-assured  us  a  brilliant  performance. 
Miss  Cary  was  bewitching,  her  fair  beauty  accentuated  by 
the  rich  costumes  she  donned  for  the  occasion  and  which 
had  been  worn  by  her  distinguished  ancestors  in  the  days 
of  the  Old  Dominion's  glory !  Your  sister-in-law,  Mrs. 
H.  L.  Clay,  was  so  fascinating  as  Lucy  that  she  captivated 
her  husband  anew,  as  he  afterward  told  me ;  and  then, 
besides,  there  was  pretty  Miss  Herndon,  who  tortured  her 
Falkland  into  jealousy."* 

As  that  historic  evening's  pleasures  crown  all  other 
recollections  of  social  life  in  the  Confederate  capital, 
so  soon  to  be  in  the  eclipse  of  sorrow  and  undreamed-of 
privations,  I  cannot  refrain  from  recording  some 
incidents  of  it.  Those  who  took  part  in  the  performance 
(or  their  descendants)  are  now  scattered  in  every  State 
of  the  Union,  and  it  is  only  by  the  cooperation 
of  some  who  remember,  among  them  Mrs.  Cora  Semmes 
Ives,  of  Alexandria,  Va.,  Mrs.  Myra  Knox  Semmes, 
of  New  Orleans,  and  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison,  of  New 
York,  that  I  am  enabled  to  gather  together  again 
the  names  of  the  cast  which  charmed  Richmond's  three 
hundred  during  the  first  session  of  the  C.  S.  A.  Congress. 
They  were: 

*  Of  Mrs.  Clay  herself,  renowned  for  her  histrionic  talent,  Mrs.  Ives 
wrote :  "It  was  the  hope  of  having  you  take  the  part  of  Mrs.  Malaprop 
that  encouraged  me  to  undertake  the  amateur  production  of  Sheridan  s 
play.  I  felt  sure  that  if  all  others  failed,  your  acting  would  redeem  all 
deficiencies.  You  carried  the  audience  by  storm.  ...  I  can  see 
you  yet,  in  imagination,  in  your  rich  brocaded  gown,  antique  laces  and 
jewels,  high  puffed  and  curled  hair,  with  nodding  plumes  which  seemed 
to  add  expression  to  your  amusing  utterances!"     A.  S. 


1 76  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Sir    Anthony     Absolute ....  Mr.     Randolph,     of     Richmond 

Captain    Absolute Mr.     Lee    Tucker 

Sir  Lucius  O 'Trigger  (and  he  had  an  unapproachable  brogue) 

Robert  W.  Brown,  N.  Carolina 

Fag Midshipman   Clarence   Cary 

David Mr.    Robinson,    of  i  Richmond 

Lydia  Languish Miss   Constance   Cary,  Virginia 

Julia    Miss  Herndon,  Virginia 

Lucy,  maid  to  Lydia Mrs.  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  Alabama 

Mrs.    Malaprop    Mrs.  Clement  C.  Clay,  Alabama 

Harpist,  Mrs.  Semmes  Fitzgerald 

Pianist,  Miss  Robinson. 

For  this  great  occasion  no  efforts  were  spared  in  the 
rehearsing  of  our  cast,  nor  in  the  preparation  of  our  ward- 
robe. Mrs.  Drew,  being  at  that  time  engaged  in  playing 
a  precarious  engagement  at  the  local  theatre  (the  price  of 
seats  not  exceeding  seventy-five  cents,  as  befitted  the 
times) ,  was  invited  to  a  private  consultation  and  criticism 
of  the  parts,  and  it  gives  me  some  pleasure,  even  at  this 
day,  to  remember  her  approval  of  my  interpretation  of 
the  difficult  role  I  had  had  the  hardihood  to  assume. 
Our  Sir  Lucius  acquired  for  the  occasion  a  brogue  so  rich 
that  almost  as  much  time  (and  trouble)  were  necessary 
to  eradicate  it  from  his  speech  in  the  weeks  that  followed 
as  had  been  spent  in  attaining  it. 

The  defection  of  one  of  the  cast  for  the  after-piece 
(Bombastes  Furioso)  caused  our  hostess  to  display  a 
genuine  ability  for  stage  management.  Unacquainted 
with  the  part  she  was  herself  compelled  to  assume,  Mrs. 
Ives  resolved  to  bring  her  audience  to  a  state  of  leniency 
for  any  possible  shortcomings  by  dazzling  them  with  the 
beauty  of  her  apparel.  A  picture  hat  from  Paris  had  just 
run  the  blockade  and  arrived  safely  to  the  hands  of  little 
Miss  Ruby  Mallory,  for  whom  it  had  been  destined.  It 
was  a  Leghorn,  trimmed  with  azure  velvet  and  plumes  of 
the  same  shade.  It  was  an  especially  appropriate  head- 
gear for  a  character  given  to  dreaming  "that  all  the  pots 


RICHMOND  AS  A  NATIONAL  CAPITAL     177 

and  pans  had  turned  to  gold,"  and  an  appeal  made  to  the 
owner  brought  it  swiftly  into  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Ives. 
Her  success  was  instantaneous.  "I  declare,"  she  said 
when  the  play  was  over,  "nothing  but  that  Paris  hat 
saved  me  from  an  attack  of  stage  fright !" 

The  home  of  Lieutenant  Ives  on  this  occasion  was 
crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity,  the  guests  comprising 
President  and  Mrs.  Davis,  the  Cabinet  and  Congressional 
members,  together  with  prominent  generals,  numbering 
in  all  three  hundred.  The  stage,  erected  under  the  super- 
vision of  our  host,  an  expert  engineer,  was  a  wonderful 
demonstration  of  his  ingenuity.  Placed  at  one  end  of 
the  long  Colonial  parlours,  it  commanded  the  eye  of  every 
visitor.  The  performance  gave  the  utmost  delight  to 
our  audience,  and  Secretary  Mallory,  who  had  seen  "  The 
Rivals"  (so  he  told  me)  in  every  large  city  of  the  United 
States,  and  on  the  boards  at  Drury  Lane,  declared  it  had 
never  been  given  by  a  cast  at  once  so  brilliant  and  so  able  ! 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  remembrance  of  that  performance 
for  forty  years  has  remained  as  the  most  ambitious  social 
event  in  the  Confederate  States'  capital. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
Glimpses  of  Our  Beleaguered  South  Land 

While  few,  I  think,  perceived  it  clearly  at  that  early- 
day,  yet  in  the  spring  of  '62  the  fortunes  of  the  Confederacy 
were  declining.  Many  of  our  wisest  men  were  already 
doubtful  of  the  issue  even  where  belief  in  the  justice  of 
our  cause  never  wavered.  Looking  back  upon  the 
prophecies  of  ultimate  defeat  that  were  uttered  in  those 
days,  by  men  accustomed  to  sound  the  security  of  govern- 
ments, I  am  thrilled  at  the  flood  of  patriotic  feeling  on 
which  our  men  and  women  were  borne  to  continue  in 
arms  against  such  overwhelming  forces  and  conditions  as 
were  brought  against  them.  For  months  before  that 
first  Congress  adjourned,  from  every  part  of  our  federated 
States,  eager  petitioning,  complaints  and  ominous  news 
reached  us.  Gold,  that  universal  talisman,  was  scarce, 
and  Confederate  currency  began  to  be  looked  upon  with  a 
doubtful  eye.  So  far-seeing  a  man  as  Judge  John  A.  Camp- 
bell, writing  to  Mrs.  Campbell  from  New  Orleans  early  in 
April,  1862,  said :  "  In  the  event  of  the  restoration  of  North- 
ern rule,  Confederate  money  may  be  worthless.  I  pro- 
ceed on  that  assumption.  It  will  certainly  depreciate 
more  and  more.  Hence,  your  expenditures  should  be 
Confederate  money,  and,  in  any  event,  the  bank-notes  of 
Georgia,  Virginia  and  Louisiana  are  preferable  to  Con- 
federate bills.  If  the  war  should  last  another  year,  the 
embarrassments  of  everyone  will  be  increased  tenfold  !  " 

Within  a  few  months  the  face  of  our  capital  had 
changed.  McClellan's  ever-swelling  army  in  the  penin- 
sula became  more  and  more  menacing.     The  shadow  of 

178 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH     179 

coming  battles  fell  over  the  city,  and  timid  ones  hastened 
away  to  points  that  promised  more  security.  Some  went 
to  the  mountain  resorts  "  to  escape  the  hot  term  "  in  Rich- 
mond, but  many  of  the  wives  and  daughters  of  non- 
householders,  even  among  those  known  to  possess  a  cool 
courage,  moved  on  to  the  Carolinas  or  returned  to  their 
native  States.  As  the  close  of  the  Congressional  session 
drew  near,  there  was  a  continual  round  of  good-byes  and 
hand-shakings,  and  even  an  attempt  now  and  then  at  a 
gaiety  which  no  one  actually  felt. 

Our  markets  grew  suddenly  poor,  and  following  quickly 
upon  the  heels  of  a  seeming  prosperity,  a  stringency  in 
every  department  of  life  in  the  city  was  felt.  The  cost  of 
living  was  doubled,  and  if,  indeed,  any  epicures  remained, 
they  were  glad  to  put  aside  their  fastidiousness.  Within 
a  year  our  vermicelli,  when  we  had  it  at  all,  would  have 
warranted  an  anglicising  of  its  first  two  syllables,  and 
our  rice,  beans,  and  peas,  as  well  as  our  store  of  grains 
and  meal,  began  to  discover  a  lively  interest  in  their  war- 
time surroundings.  We  heard  tales  of  a  sudden  demand 
for  green  persimmons,  since  a  soldier,  feeding  upon  one  of 
these,  could  feel  his  stomach  draw  up  and  at  once  forget 
that  he  was  "hawngry."  I  remember  hearing  the  story 
of  a  certain  superficial  lady  who  spoke  disdainfully,  in  the 
hearing  of  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pry  or,  of  a  barrel  of  sorghum 
which  some  friend  had  sent  her  from  a  distance.  Full  of 
contempt,  she  ordered  the  offending  gift  to  be  taken  away. 
"Horrid  stuff!"  she  said. 

"  Horrid  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Pry  or,  gently.  "  Why  !  in  these 
days,  with  our  country  in  peril,  I  am  grateful  when  I  am 
able  to  get  a  pitcher  of  sorghum,  and  I  teach  my  children 
to  thank  God  for  it !  " 

Our  mail,  from  many  quarters,  was  now  become  a 
Pandora's  box,  from  which  escaped,  as  we  opened  it, 
myriad  apprehensions,  dissatisfactions  or  distresses. 
"  Pray,"  wrote  a  friend  from  New  Orleans,  "  when  you  see 


180  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  President,  beg  him  to  give  some  attention  to  the  dis- 
loyal element  in  the  cities,  and  particularly  in  this  city, 
which  is  filled  with  strangers  who  appear  and  disappear 
in  the  most  mysterious  manner,  go  to  private  boarding- 
houses,  examine  the  defenses,  etc.,  etc." 

"I  am  thus  far  on  my  way  home,"  wrote  William  L. 
Yancey,  from  the  same  city,  in  a  letter  dated  March  14, 
1862,  "having  left  Havana  on  the  26th  ultimo  on  a 
small  schooner,  and  arrived  at  Sabine  Pass  on  the  6th. 
Two  of  Lincoln's  vessels  had  been  anchored  in  the  channel 
of  that  harbour  for  a  week  and  only  left  twenty-four 
hours  before  my  arrival.  .  .  .  This  city  is  almost 
in  a  state  of  revolution,"  he  added.  "Fifteen  hundred 
of  its  weathiest  and  most  respectable  citizens  and  good 
Southerners  have  organised  an  association  and  resolved 
to  assume  executive  and  judicial  functions  to  arrest, 
try,   imprison,    banish   or  hang !     .  There   is   un- 

doubtedly a  deep-seated  feeling  of  wrong  done  them 
and  of  anxiety  for  the  city's  safety  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this,  and  this  association  should  not  be  treated  as  a 
mere  lawless  mob.  Their  success,  however,  would  be 
the  knell  of  our  cause  in  England,  and  perhaps  on  the 
Continent.  I  am  doing  all  I  can  to  throw  oil  on  the 
troubled  waters,  and  I  hope  with  some  effect." 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Richmond,  Mr.  Yancey, 
whom  my  husband  greatly  admired,  spent  a  morning  in 
our  chamber — space  was  too  costly  at  this  time  to  admit 
of  our  having  a  private  parlour — in  conference  with 
Mr.  Clay,  and  a  more  hopeless  and  unhappy  statesman 
I  never  saw.  The  people  in  England,  he  declared,  were 
for,  but  Parliament  opposed  to  us,  and  his  mission, 
therefore,  had  been  fruitless.  Every  action  and  each 
word  he  uttered  demonstrated  that  he  knew  and  felt 
the  ultimate  downfall  of  the  Confederacy. 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  almost  under  the  same 
circumstances   but   some   months   later,    a   similar  con- 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH     181 

ference  took  place  in  our  rooms,  but  Mr.  Lamar  was  now 
the  returned  diplomat.  But  recently  home  from  an 
unfinished  mission  to  Russia,  our  long-time  friend  talked, 
as  had  Mr.  Yancey,  with  a  conviction  that  our  cause  was 
hopeless.  Mr.  Lamar  had  proceeded  only  so  far  as  Lon- 
don and  Paris,  when,  observing  the  drift  of  public  feeling 
abroad,  he  took  ship  again,  arriving,  as  did  many  of  our 
returned  foreign  emissaries,  on  the  top  of  a  friendly 
wave.  The  sea  was  peculiarly  inimical  to  the  cause  of 
the  Confederate  States,  sinking  many  of  the  merchant 
ships  we  succeeded  in  sending  through  the  blockading 
fleets  that  beset  our  coast,  and  wrecking  our  ambassadors 
wherever  it  could  grapple  them,  even  on  our  very  shores. 

By  the  time  Congress  closed  in  the  spring  of  '62,  the 
news  from  the  Tennessee  Valley  was  distracting.  The 
enemy  had  succeeded  in  reaching  our  home,  and  Hunts- 
ville  was  now  become  the  headquarters  of  General  O.  M. 
Mitchell.  If  that  gentleman  had  taken  delight  in  any- 
thing besides  the  vigorous  exercise  of  an  unwelcome 
authority,  he  might  have  found  there  an  ideal  spot  for 
the  prosecution  of  his  astronomical  researches.  The 
span  that  rests  upon  the  opposite  apices  of  Monte  Sano 
and  Lookout  Mountain  is  one  of  gorgeous  beauty.  Upon 
a  clear  night  the  planets  glow  benignly  upon  the  valley, 
the  little  stars  laugh  and  leap  and  go  shooting  down 
great  distances  in  a  manner  unparalleled  in  more  northerly 
latitudes.  Though  generally  loyal  to  the  cause  of  the 
Confederacy,  the  people  of  Huntsville  were  not  indis- 
posed to  look  upon  the  author-soldier  with  considerate 
eyes,  had  that  General  adopted  a  humane  course  toward 
them.  Unfortunately,  his  career  in  our  valley  from 
beginning  to  end  was  that  of  a  martinet  bent  upon  the 
subjugation  of  the  old  and  helpless  and  the  very  young, 
our  youths  and  strong  men  being  away  in  the  field. 

The  accounts  that  reached  us  by  letter  and  by  eye- 
witnesses of  the  scenes  in  the  Clay  home  were  alarming. 


182 


A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 


Everything  belonging  to  the  Clays,  it  was  rumoured,  was 
to  be  confiscated.  "Judge  Scruggs  told  Stanley,"  wrote 
mother,  "  that  the  Clays  are  to  be  stript  of  all."  Father's 
negroes,  and  most  of  our  own,  were  conducting  them- 
selves in  an  insolent  manner,  taking  to  the  mountains 
when  there  was  work  to  be  done,  or  wandering  in  the 
train  of  straggling  Union  soldiers,  but  returning  when 
hungry  to  feed  upon  their  master's  rapidly  diminishing 
stores.  In  some  instances,  relying  upon  the  protection 
of  the  soldiers,  the  negroes  of  the  town  would  take  pos- 
session of  the  home  of  an  absent  master,  revelling  in  an 
opportunity  to  sleep  in  his  bed  or  to  eat  from  the  family 
silver  and  china. 

A  dozen  times  a  day,  and  at  unreasonable  hours,  if  the 
invading  soldiery  saw  fit,  they  entered  the  houses  of  the 
citizens  in  what  was  often  merely  a  pretended  search  for 
some  concealed  Confederate,  or  to  demand  food  or  drink 
or  horses.  They  were  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  the 
possible  visits,  to  their  families,  of  the  distinguished 
citizens  in  temporary  banishment  from  Huntsville. 
The  presence  of  General  Pope  Walker  being  suspected 
(though  no  longer  Secretary  of  War,  he  would  have  been 
a  desirable  prize  to  take,  since  he  had  issued  orders  for 
the  firing  of  the  first  gun  at  Fort  Sumter),  for  months 
the  home  of  our  friend  ex-Governor  Chapman,  in  which 
the  family  of  General  Walker  had  taken  refuge,  was 
searched  dairy,  the  vigilants  being  so  scrupulous  in  their 
investigations  that  even  the  leaves  of  a  dictionary  were 
parted,  lest  the  wily  late  Secretary  should  spirit  himself 
away  between  its  covers.* 

"The  enemy  came  demanding  food  or  horses,"  wrote 

*  I  asked  Mrs.  Milton  Humes,  daughter  of  ex-Governor  Chapman, 
concerning  these  war-time  search-parties.  "I  remember  distinctly," 
she  answered,  "seeing  them  look  into  preserve  jars  and  cut-glass  decali- 
ters, until  my  mother's  risibles  no  longer  could  be  repressed.  'You 
don't  expect  to  find  General  Walker  in  that  brandy  bottle,  do  you?' 
she  asked."     A.  S. 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH    18 


o 


mother,  "taking  all  they  could  of  breadstuff  s,  meat 
stock,  and  all  the  able-bodied  negroes,  whether  willing  or 
not.  Our  men  hid,  but  they  took  the  horses  and  mules, 
and  promised  to  return  in  a  week  and  take  every- 
thing!" 

Alas,  poor  little  mother  !  Those  were  but  the  beginning 
of  bitterer  days  and  yet  sterner  deprivations !  For 
months  the  only  hope  of  our  beleagured  neighbours  in 
Huntsville  lay  in  the  prayed-for  advance  of  General 
Bragg,  though  their  prayers,  too,  were  interdicted  when 
made  in  the  church;  and,  upon  the  investment  of  the 
town,  our  pastor,  Doctor  Bannister,  *  was  quickly 
instructed  as  to  the  limited  petitions  with  which  he 
might  address  his  God  on  behalf  of  his  people. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  courage  of  our  citizens  was  kept 
alive  by  General  Roddy,  who  lay  over  the  crest  of  Monte 
Sano.  The  forays  of  his  men  were  a  perpetual  worry  to 
the  Federals  in  the  valley.  So  audacious,  indeed,  did 
they  become  that  the  Federal  general  razed  the  houses 
on  "The  Hill"  and  threw  up  breastworks,  behind  which 
he  built  a  stout  fort,  the  better  to  resist  the  possible 
attacks  from  the  mountain  side  by  brave  General  Roddy 
and  his  merry  men. 

During  General  Mitchell's  investment  of  Huntsville  he 
was  accompanied  by  his  daughters,  who,  in  the  ransacking 
of  our  home,  fell  heiresses  to  certain  coveted  and  "con- 
fiscated" articles  of  my  own,  but  the  possession  of  which 
could  scarcely  have  been  an  unmixed  pleasure.  I  heard 
of  my  losses  first  through  a  letter  written  late  in  August. 
"Mr.  Hammond,"  began  the  epistle,  "says  in  Atlanta  he 
saw  a  lady  just  from  Nashville  who  told  him  that  Miss 
Mitchell  rode  out  in  your  green  habit  on  your  mare!  This 
part  of  the  story,"  continued  my  witty  sister,  "may  be 
true,  but  there  is  another:    that  the  other  Miss  Mitchell 

t  Dr.  J.  M.  Bannister,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-six,  still  continues  in 
active  pastoral  charge  of  the  Church  of  the  Nativity  in  Huntsville.    A.  S. 


i84  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

rode  in  my  habit  on  my  mare  !     I'm  glad  I  had  no  mare, 

and  am  sorry  for  poor  '  Jenny  Lind ' ! " 

Months  afterward  I  heard  (and  any  who  asks  may  still 
hear  the  story  in  the  town,  for  it  has  become  one  of  Hunts- 
ville's  war-time  annals)  an  account  of  Miss  Mitchell's 
outings  in  my  now  celebrated  green  habit.  Her  path,  it 
seems,  as  she  trotted  my  pretty  mare  about  the  streets, 
was  not  strewn  with  roses;  for,  though  absent  from  our 
beloved  little  city,  I  was  not  forgotten.  One  day  the 
horsewoman,  passing  proudly  on  her  way,  saw,  looking 
over  the  garden  gate  of  a  pretty  cottage,  the  laughing  face 
of  sweet  Alice  Spence,  a  right  loyal  admirer  of  my  unde- 
serving self.  Alice  looked  up  at  the  passing  apparition, 
and,  full  of  daring,  half  mischievously,  half  indignantly, 
cried  out  after  it,  "  Hey  !  Git  off  'Ginie  Clay's  mare  ! 
Git — off — 'Ginie  Clay's  ma — are  !" 

At  the  sound  of  these  words  Miss  Mitchell  galloped 
away  in  great  anger.  While  Alice  was  still  regaling  her 
mother  with  a  jubilant  account  of  her  championship  of 
my  property,  a  proof  reached  her  of  General  Mitchell's 
implacability.  That  afternoon  her  brother  was  ordered 
into  arrest,  and  for  months  thereafter  was  kept  in  custody 
as  a  guarantee  for  his  sister's  good  behaviour  ! 

When,  later,  Mr.  Clay  and  I  were  enabled  to  visit 
Huntsville  (the  Federals  having  been  beaten  back  for  a 
time) ,  I  heard  of  an  amusing  encounter  which  took  place 
at  the  home  of  the  Spences  between  Mrs.  Spence  and  John 
A.  Logan.  A  swarthy  stripling  in  appearance,  the  young 
ofhcer  stood  carelessly  about,  whilst  several  soldiers  of 
his  command  were  engaged  in  a  search  of  the  premises. 
As  Mrs.  Spence  entered  the  room  in  which  the  ofhcer 
stood,  she  eyed  him  with  genuine  curiosity. 

"  Whose  boy  are  you  ?"  she  asked  at  last.  Her  daugh- 
ter, who  was  beside  her,  caught  her  mother's  arm  in 
alarm. 

Why,  ma  !"  she  gasped.     "  That's  General  Logan  !" 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH    185 

"General  Logan!"  repeated  her  mother,  contemptu- 
ously. "  I  tell  you  he's  nothing  of  the  kind !  He's 
black!" 

It  was  already  early  summer  when  we  left  the  troubled 
capital,  where  everyone  was  keyed  to  a  high  pitch  of 
excitement  by  the  manceuvrings  of  the  enemy,  now  so 
near  that  the  reverberating  sound  of  distant  cannon  was 
plainly  audible.  Our  way  was  southward.  Though 
withdrawing,  as  I  supposed,  for  a  change  of  scene  during 
the  Congressional  recess  only,  in  reality  my  refugee  days 
had  now  begun;  for,  notwithstanding  I  made  several 
later  stays  of  varying  duration  at  Richmond,  the  greater 
part  of  the  two  succeeding  years  was  spent  at  the  homes 
of  hospitable  kin  far  away  from  that  centre  of  anxiety  and 
deprivation.  Upon  leaving  Richmond,  in  May  of  '62, 
Senator  Clay  and  I,  stopping  en  route  at  the  home  of  my 
uncle,  Buxton  Williams,  in  Warrenton,  North  Carolina, 
proceeded  by  easy  stages  to  Augusta,  Macon  and  Colum- 
bus, where  many  of  our  kinfolks  and  friends  resided,  and 
to  which  cities  I  often  returned,  when,  from  time  to  time, 
the  exigencies  of  the  war  compelled  my  husband  and 
me  to  separate.  Georgia,  save  when  Sherman's  men 
marched  through  it,  two  years  later,  was  the  safest  and 
most  affluent  State  in  the  Confederacy ;  but  in  the  sum- 
mer of  '62  there  were  few  localities  which  did  not  retain, 
here  and  there  at  least,  an  affluent  estate  or  two.  Until 
almost  the  end  of  hostilities  the  home  of  my  uncle  Williams 
in  Warrenton  continued  to  be  with  us  in  Richmond  the 
synonym  for  plenty.  When  I  had  starved  in  the  capital, 
I  dropped  down  to  "  Buxton  Place,"  whence  I  was  sure  to 
return  laden  with  hampers  of  sweets  and  meats  and  bread 
made  of  the  finest  "Number  One"  flour,  which  proved  a 
fine  relief  to  the  "seconds"  to  which  the  bread-eaters  of 
the  Confederate  capital  were  now  reduced.  In  the  course 
of  a  year  molasses  and  "seconds"  (brown  flour  with  the 
bran  still  in  it)  came  to  be  regarded  as  luxuries  by  many 


186  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

who  but  a  short  time  ago  had  feasted  capriciously  upon 
the  dainties  of  a  limitless  market. 

My  uncle  Williams  was  an  astute  man,  and  when  he 
was  assured  that  war  had  become  a  settled  fact,  instead 
of  hoarding  his  means  for  the  benefit  of  invading  soldiers, 
he  retired  to  his  country  home,  bought  out  the  contents 
of  a  local  store,  which  he  transferred  to  his  own  cup- 
boards and  pantry,  and  made  "Buxton  Place"  to  "kith 
and  kin"  the  most  generous  and  hospitable  of  asylums. 
It  was  a  peaceful,  happy  place,  set  among  ample  grounds, 
with  noble  trees  rising  about,  in  which  birds  carolled  as 
they  coquetted  among  the  foliage  and  squirrels  gambolled 
at  their  will  through  the  long,  lazy  days.  No  chicory  and 
sugar,  adopting  the  alias  of  coffee,  found  place  on  that 
sumptuous  board  in  those  first  years,  but  only  the  bona 
fide  stuff  !  We  had  sugar  in  abundance,  and  pyramids  of 
the  richest  butter,  bowls  of  thick  cream,  and  a  marvellous 
plenitude  of  incomparable  "clabber." 

Once,  during  our  wandering  that  autumn,  we  slipped 
over  to  "  Millbrook,"  the  home  of  my  cousins  the  Hilliards, 
and  thence  to  Shocco  Springs,  long  a  famous  North 
Carolina  resort,  where,  to  the  music  of  a  negro  band, 
the  feet  of  a  merry  little  company  went  flying  over  the 
polished  floor  as  if  the  world  were  still  a  happy  place, 
despite  its  wars  and  wounds  and  graves  and  weeping 
women. 

Life  at  dear  old  "Millbrook,"  rich  with  a  thousand 
associations  of  my  childhood  and  family,  still  ran  serenely 
on.  The  loudest  sound  one  heard  was  the  hum  of  the  bee 
on  the  wing  as  it  rushed  to  riot  in  the  amber  honey  sacs 
of  the  flowers.  But  whether  at  "Millbrook"  or  "Bux- 
ton Place,"  whether  we  outwardly  smiled  or  joined  in  the 
mirth  about  us,  inwardly  my  husband  and  I  were  tor- 
tured with  fears  born  of  an  intimate  knowledge  of  our 
national  situation.  We  watched  eagerly  for  our  de- 
spatches, and,  when  they  came,  trembled  as  we  opened 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH    187 

them.  Some  of  our  communications  rang  with  triumph, 
others  with  an  overwhelming  sadness. 

A  thrilling  letter  from  Richmond  reached  us  after  the 
terrible  "Battle  of  Seven  Pines."  A  mere  mention  of 
that  deadly  conflict  for  years  was  enough  to  start  the 
tears  in  Southern  eyes,  and  sons  and  daughters,  as  they 
grew  up,  were  taken  back  to  look  upon  the  bloody  field 
as  to  a  sacred  mausoleum.  The  letter  was  written  by 
Robert  Brown,  our  erstwhile  Sir  Lucius,  of  Mrs.  Ives's 
famous  performance,  and  now  serving  as  aide-de-camp  to 
General  Winder. 

"I  have  been  beholding  scenes  of  carnage,"  he  wrote 
on  the  10th  of  June.  "  On  the  afternoon  of  the  31st  ult. 
Winder  and  myself  rode  down  to  the  battle-field.  The 
reports  of  the  cannon  were  distinctly  heard  here,  and  as 
we  approached  the  field,  the  firing  became  terrific !  We 
met  wounded  and  dying  men,  borne  upon  litters  and  sup- 
ported by  solicitous  friends.  The  scene  was  revolting  to 
me,  but,  singular  to  say,  in  a  very  short  time  I  became 
accustomed  to  this  sight  of  horror,  and  the  nearer  we 
approached  the  line  of  battle,  the  nearer  we  wished  to  get ; 
but  we  were  quite  satisfied  to  get  so  near  the  line  (proper) 
as  the  headquarters  of  General  Longstreet,  which  was 
under  a  fine  old  oak  tree  on  a  slight  elevation.  The  Gen- 
eral was  there,  sitting  most  complacently  upon  a  fine 
horse,  surrounded  by  his  staff,  who  were  riding  away  at 
intervals  bearing  his  orders  to  the  line  and  returning.  We 
were  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  engagement,  and 
we  could  distinctly  hear  the  shouts  of  victory  of  our 
gallant  troops,  literally  driving  the  enemy  before  them. 
Entrenchment  and  battery  after  battery  were  wrested 
from  the  Yankees  by  our  splendid  troops,  old  North 
Carolina  leading  them ! 

"  Imagine  the  powder  burnt !  I  tell  you,  the  firing  was 
awful,  but  glorious !  Near  the  headquarters  of  Long- 
street  were  regiments  of  splendid,  eager  troops  drawn  up 


1 88  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

in  line  as  a  reserve.  Amid  the  heavy  firing,  the  glorious 
cheering  of  our  troops,  squad  after  squad  of  Yankee 
prisoners  were  brought  up  to  Longstreet  under  guards 
buoyant  with  victory;  and,  as  each  reached  headquar- 
ters, I  tell  you  that  the  reserve  force  would  send  up  a  yell 
of  delight  that  split  the  air  and  made  old  earth  tremble ! 
One  little  brave  band  of  fifty-five  South  Carolinians 
brought  in  one  hundred  and  sixty-six  live  Yankees  and  a 
Captain  whom  they  had  taken!  The  excitement  was 
intense  !  The  firing  ceased  at  seven  o'clock.  I  remained 
in  the  field  until  the  last  gun  was  fired.  Our  troops 
occupied  the  enemy's  camp  that  night  and  all  the  next 
day ;  and  Monday  our  military  talent  thought  it  prudent 
and  best  to  fall  back  and  give  the  enemy  the  vantage 
ground  we  had  gained ! 

"General  Johnston  was  wounded,  but  not  seriously,  it  is 
said.  Smith's  horse  was  shot  in  two  places,  on  the  shoul- 
der and  just  back  of  the  saddle;  the  General's  coat-tail, 
they  say,  was  seriously  injured.  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Sydenham  Moore  was  wounded ;  the  ball  struck  his  watch, 
literally  shattering  it !  General  Pettigrew  was  not  killed, 
but  seriously  wounded,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  They,  thank  God,  lost  two  brigadier  generals 
and  one  seriously  wounded.  Our  total  loss,  killed  and 
wounded,  was  thirty-five  hundred.  The  enemy  acknowl- 
edge eight  hundred  killed  and  four  thousand  wounded. 
It  was  a  fearful  fight ! 

"  We  have  good  news  every  day  from  Jackson  !  To-day 
brings  us  the  news  of  his  having  '  completely  routed  the 
enemy,  taking  six  pieces  of  artillery  ! '  Old  Stonewall  is 
certainly  the  Hero  of  the  War,  and  unless  our  Generals 
Beauregard  and  Johnston  look  sharp,  he  will  entirely 
take  the  wind  out  of  their  sails  and  leave  them  in  the 
Lee- ward !" 

"The  city  is  filled  with  the  wounded  and  dead,"  echoed 
our  cousin  John  Withers.     "  It  is  fortunate  you  are  away 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH    189 

and  saved  the  necessity  of  beholding  the  horrible  sights 
which  are  now  so  common  here !  Great  numbers  of 
Alabamians  are  killed  and  wounded.  .  .  ."  And  he 
added  in  a  letter,  written  in  an  interval  of  the  awful 
Seven  Days  Battles:  "For  four  days  I  have  been 
awaiting  some  decisive  move  on  the  part  of  our  forces, 
but  nothing  has  been  done  yet  to  settle  affairs. 
McClellan  has  not  been  routed,  but  his  army  is, 
no  doubt,  demoralised  to  such  an  extent  as  to  render 
any  other  demonstration  against  Richmond  out  of  the 
question  for  many  weeks.  .  .  .  The  President 
has  come  up  from  the  battle-field,  and  I  hear  that  a 
courier  from  the  French  and  British  Consuls  is  to  leave 
here  for  Washington  to-night  or  in  the  morning.  We 
will  secure  between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  small  arms 
by  our  late  operations;  many  of  them  much  injured  by 
being  bent.  The  enemy  have  a  position  now  which  we 
cannot  well  assail  successfully.  They  are  under  their 
gunboats  and  have  gotten  reinforcements.  .  .  .  There 
is  a  report  to-night  that  Magruder  has  captured  eight 
hundred  Yankees  to-day,  but  I  place  no  reliance  upon 
any  rumour  until  it  is  confirmed  as  truth.  General  Beau- 
regard has  made  a  most  successful  retreat  to  Baldwin, 
thirty-five  miles  south  of  Corinth,  on  the  Mobile  and  Ohio 
Railroad.  The  move  was  necessary,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
will  be  a  great  blow  to  the  enemy.  He  carried  all  his 
heavy  guns,  tents,  and  so  on.  General  Lee  is  in  com- 
mand of  the  army  hereabouts,  and  I  am  sure  we  will  whip 
McClellan 's  army  when  the  grand  contest  shall  take  place. 
The  rain  of  last  night  will  forbid  any  movement  for  two 
or  three  days.  When  the  fight  opens  again,  we  will  have 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  wounded  here!" 

Such  were  the  accruing  records  of  woe  and  of  personal 
and  national  loss  which  followed  Senator  Clay  and  me 
throughout  those  autumn  months  of  '62.  The  inroad 
made  upon  the  gallant  regiments  of  our  own  State  were 


i9o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

frightful.  The  ranks  of  the  splendid  Fourth  Alabama  Regi- 
ment, picked  men  of  our  finest  blood,  the  flower  of  our 
hopes,  as  handsome  a  body  as  a  State  might  muster,  were 
terribly  thinned.  Wherever  a  call  came  our  Alabamians 
were  found  in  the  front,  the  envy  and  admiration  of  the 
army,  quickening  the  courage  and  firing  the  imaginations 
of  every  company  that  beheld  them.  But  oh  !  our  men 
had  need  of  a  mighty  courage,  for  soon  the  very  seed- 
corn  of  our  race  became  a  sacrifice.  The  picture  rises 
before  me  of  a  youthful  cousin  *  who  fell  at  Malvern  Hill, 
shot  down  as  he  bore  aloft  the  banner  which  he  fondly 
hoped  would  lead  to  victory.  His  blood-stained  cap, 
marked  by  a  bullet  hole,  was  all  that  returned  of  our 
fair  young  soldier  boy.  Another  youth, f  on  whom  the 
love  and  hope  of  a  dear  circle  was  settled,  fell  with  his 
heart  pierced,  and  so  swift  was  the  passing  of  his  soul 
that  he  felt  no  pain  nor  sorrow.  They  say  an  eager 
smile  was  on  his  face  when  they  found  him.  For  years 
his  loved  ones,  gazing  upon  it  with  weeping  eyes,  treas- 
ured the  blood-stained,  bullet-torn  handkerchief  that 
had  lain  over  the  wounded  heart  of  the  boy ! 

The  tears  start  afresh  when,  looking  into  my  memory, 
there  passes  before  me  that  army  of  the  dead  and  gone. 
Oh !  the  sorrow  that  overcame  all  who  knew  him  (and 
the  circle  was  wide  as  half  the  South  itself)  when  the 
news  came  of  the  death  of  Colonel  Sydenham.  Moore,  who 
fell  at  Seven  Pines;  and  even  the  enemy  spoke  solemnly 
at  the  passing  of  our  beloved  General  Tracy,  who  died 
so  courageously  fighting  in  the  battle  of  Port  Gibson, 
within  three-quarters  of  a  year !  "I  have  little  active 
service  at  this  post,"  he  complained  from  Vicksburg,  in 
March  of  '63,  "and  the  very  fact  incapacitates  me  for 
the  discharge  of  duties  of  other  kinds.  In  fact,  I  am 
ennuied  past  description!"      So,  chafing  impatiently  to 

*  Harry,  son  of  Buxton  Williams. 

f  James  Camp  Turner,  of  Alabama,  died  at  Manassas. 


GLIMPSES  OF  OUR  BELEAGUERED  SOUTH    191 

write  his  name  in  brave  deeds  across  some  page  of  the 
Confederate  States'  history,  he  sprang  to  meet  the  call 
when  it  came,  and  fell,  crowned  with  immortal  glory  in 
the  hearts  of  a  loving  people. 

General  Tracy's  young  wife  was  awaiting  him,  an 
infant  at  her  bosom,  when  we  returned  late  in  November 
of  '62  for  a  brief  stay  at  Huntsville,  from  which,  for  a 
time,  the  Union  soldiers  had  been  beaten  back.  By 
this  time  our  valley  seemed  so  safe  that  families  from 
other  threatened  districts  came  to  take  refuge  in  it. 
Colonel  Basil  Duke,  among  others,  brought  his  wife  to 
Huntsville.  Numerous  absentee  householders  came 
back;  and  interest  in  local  enterprises  was  resumed. 
When,  in  December,  my  husband  returned  to  his  duties 
in  the  Senate,  there  was  small  reason  to  apprehend  an 
early  reappearance,  in  Huntsville,  of  the  Federals. 
"North  Alabama,"  General  Bragg  assured  my  husband, 
"is  as  secure  now  as  it  was  when  I  held  Murfreesboro !" 
And  on  this  assurance  our  spirits  rose  and  we  departed 
again,  promising  ourselves  and  our  parents  we  would 
return  within  a  few  months  at  most. 

Mr.  Clay  proceeded  at  once  to  Richmond,  beset  now 
with  deadly  enemies  within  as  well  as  without.  Small- 
pox and  scarlet  fever  raged  there,  as  in  many  of  our 
larger  cities,  and  I  pleaded  in  vain  to  be  allowed  to 
accompany  him.  I  turned  my  way,  therefore,  in  com- 
pany with  others  of  our  kin,  toward  Macon,  where  was 
sojourning  our  sweet  sister,  Mrs.  Hugh  Lawson  Clay,  at 
the  home  of  Major  Anderson  Comer,  her  father.  Thence 
it  was  proposed  I  should  proceed  with  her  later  to  Rich- 
mond under  the  escort  of  Colonel  Clay. 

That  winter  the  weather  was  peculiarly  cold,  so 
much  so  that  on  the  plantations  where  wheat  had 
been  sown,  a  fear  was  general  lest  the  grain  be 
killed  in  the  ground.  The  journey  to  Macon,  there- 
fore,    was    anything    but     comfortable,     but    it    had 


i92  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

its    amusing    sides  nevertheless.      We  were  a  party  of 
women. 

"We  arrived  safely  (self,  Kate,  Alice  and  servants),"  I 
wrote  in  a  kaleidoscopic  account  which  I  gave  my  husband 
of  the  indications  of  the  times  as  seen  en  route.  "  We  rode 
from  Stevenson  to  Chattanooga  on  the  freight  train,  the 
baggage-cars  on  the  passenger-train  being  unable  to 
receive  a  single  trunk.  Arriving  at  Chattanooga,  we 
would  have  been  forced  to  go  to  the  small-pox  hotel  or 
remain  in  the  streets  but  for  the  gallantry  of  an  ac- 
quaintance of  ours,  an  army  officer  of  Washington 
memory,  who  gave  up  his  room  to  us,  and  furnished  some 
wagons  to  have  our  baggage  hauled  to  the  depot.  At 
Atlanta  there  was  a  scatteration  of  our  forces. 
When  night  came"  (being  fearful  of  robbery,  for  hotels 
were  unsafe)  "  I  stuffed  in  one  stocking  all  my  mone}^, 
and  in  the  other,  mine  and  Alice's  watches,  chains,  pins, 
and  charms.  I  felt  not  unlike  Miss  Kilmansegg,  of  the 
precious  Leg.  We  fumigated  the  room,  had  a  bed 
brought  in  for  Emily,  and  retired.  At  breakfast  Colonel 
Garner  told  me  that  Uncle  Jones  [Withers]  was  in  the 
house,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  presented  himself.  He 
got  in  at  three  that  morning,  en  route  for  Mobile  with 
thirty  days'  leave;  looked  worn,  and  was  sad,  I  thought. 
Colonel  George  Johnson,  of  Marion,  also  called,  and  we 
had  them  all  and  Dr.  W.,  of  Macon,  to  accompany  us  to 
the  cars.  The  guard  at  the  gate  said  '  Passport,  Madam,' 
but  I  replied,  '  Look  at  my  squad ;  General  Withers, 
Colonel  Garner  of  Bragg's  staff,  and  a  Colonel  and  Lieu- 
tenant in  the  Confederate  service.  I  think  I'll  pass!'" 
And  I  passed! 


CHAPTER   XIV 
Refugee  Days  in  Georgia 

Our  stay  in  Macon,  where  it  had  been  my  intention 
to  remain  but  a  few  weeks,  lengthened  into  months;  for, 
upon  his  arrival  in  Richmond,  Senator  Clay  found  the 
conditions  such  as  to  render  my  joining  him,  if  not 
impracticable,  at  least  inadvisable.  The  evils  of  a 
year  agone  had  multiplied  tenfold.  Food  was  growing 
scarcer;  the  city's  capacity  was  tested  to  the  uttermost, 
and  lodgings  difficult  to  obtain.  The  price  of  board 
for  my  husband  alone  now  amounted  to  more  than  his 
income.  Feeling  in  legislative  circles  was  tense,  the 
times  engendering  a  troublesome  discontent  and  strife 
among  eager  and  anxious  politicians.  Complaints  from 
the  army  poured  in.  Our  soldiers  were  suffering  the 
harshest  deprivations.  Wearing  apparel  was  scarce. 
Many  of  our  men  marched  in  ragged  and  weather-stained 
garments  and  tattered  shoes,  and  even  these  were  luxuries 
that  threatened  soon  to  be  unattainable.  Our  treasury 
was  terribly  depleted,  and  our  food  supply  for  the  army 
was  diminishing  at  a  lamentable  rate. 

"You  will  be  surprised  to  know,"  wrote  General 
Tracy  from  Vicksburg,  in  March,  1863,  "that  in  this 
garrisoned  town,  upon  which  the  hopes  of  a  whole  people 
are  set,  and  which  is  liable  at  any  time  to  be  cut  off  from 
its  interior  lines  of  communication,  there  is  not  now 
subsistence  for  one  week.  The  meat  ration  has  already 
been  virtually  discontinued,  the  quality  being  such  that 
the. men  utterly  refuse  to  eat  it,  though  the  contract 


193 


i94  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 


continues  to  be  worth  between  one  thousand  and  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  per  diem." 

"A  general  gloom  prevails  here  because  of  the  scarcity 
and  high  price  of  food,"  ran  a  letter  from  my  husband, 
written  in  the  same  month  from  Richmond.  "Our 
soldiers  are  on  half  rations  of  meat,  one-quarter  pound 
of  salt,  and  one-half  pound  of  fresh  meat,  without  vege- 
tables, or  fruit,  or  coffee  or  sugar  !  Don't  mention  this, 
as  it  will  do  harm  to  let  it  get  abroad.  Really  there  is 
serious  apprehension  of  having  to  disband  part  of  the  army 
for  want  of  food.  In  this  city  the  poor  clerks  and  sub- 
altern military  officers  are  threatened  with  starvation, 
as  they  cannot  get  board  on  their  pay.  God  only  knows 
what  is  to  become  of  us,  if  we  do  not  soon  drive  the 
enemy  from  Tennessee  and  Kentucky  and  get  food  from 
their  granaries.  ...  I  dined  with  the  President 
yesterday  at  six  p.  m.,  en  famille,  on  beef  soup,  beef  stew, 
meat  pie,  potatoes,  coffee  and  bread.  I  approved  his 
simple  fare  and  expressed  the  wish  that  the  army  in  the 
field  had  more  to  eat  and  that  out  of  the  field  less  ! " 

The  receipt  of  this  news  stirred  me  to  the  core.  Spring 
was  in  its  freshest  beauty  in  Macon.  Its  gardens  glowed 
with  brilliant  blossoms.  A  thousand  fragrant  odours 
mingled  in  the  air ;  the  voices  of  myriad  birds  sang  about 
the  foliaged  avenues.  I  thought  Aunt  Comer's  home  a 
terrestrial  Paradise.  The  contrast  between  the  comfort 
in  this  pretty  city  of  lower  Georgia,  a  city  of  beautiful 
homes  and  plentiful  tables,  and  our  poverty-stricken 
capital  and  meagre  starving  camps,  was  terrible  to 
picture.  I  wrote  impulsively  (and,  alas !  impotently) 
in  reply  to  my  husband's  letter: 

"Why  does  not  the  President  or  some  proper  authority 
order  on  from  here  and  other  wealthy  towns,  and  im- 
mediately at  that,  the  thousands  of  provisions  that  fill 
the  land?  Monopolists  and  misers  hold  enough  meat 
and  grain  in  their  clutches  to  feed  our  army  and  Lincoln's  ! 


REFUGEE  DAYS  IN  GEORGIA  195 

Put  down  the  screws  and  make  them  release  it !  Talk 
of  disbanding  an  army  at  a  time  like  this  ?  No  !  empty 
the  coffers  and  graneries  and  meat  houses  of  every 
civilian  in  the  land  first !" 

Many  an  eager  and  impatient  hour  my  sister  and  I 
spent  in  those  months  of  waiting  for  the  call  from  our 
husbands  to  join  them  in  the  capital.  Her  sprightly  wit 
and  unfailing  courage  made  her  a  most  enjoyable  com- 
panion, and  a  great  favourite  with  all  who  knew  her. 
"Give  my  love  to  your  sunbeam  of  a  sister,"  Secretary 
Mallory  wrote  me  during  those  dark  days.  "  If  not  one 
of  the  lost  Pleiads,  at  least  she  is  a  heavenly  body!" 
And  when  I  quoted  this  to  dear  "Lushe"  Lamar,  he 
answered  from  the  fulness  of  his  heart:  " Mallory 's 
compliments  grow  languid  in  their  impotence  to  do 
justice  to  that  beautiful  embodiment  of  bright  thoughts 
and  ideal  graces,  your  sister,  Celeste."  I  found  her 
all  this  and  more  in  that  spring  we  spent  together  in 
Macon,  as  we  daily  sat  and  planned  and  compared  our 
news  of  the  battle-fields,  or  discussed  the  movements  of 
the  army.  We  did  a  prodigious  amount  of  sewing  and 
knitting  for  our  absent  husbands,  to  whom  we  sent 
packages  of  home-made  wearing  apparel  by  whomsoever 
we  could  find  to  carry  them.  I  remember  one  such  which 
gave  us  considerable  anxiety;  for,  proving  too  large  to 
impose  upon  General  Alf .  Colquitt,  who  had  undertaken  to 
deliver  another  to  Senator  Clay,  we  sent  the  bundle  by 
express.  The  robe  which  General  Colquitt  carried  was 
soon  in  the  hands  of  its  future  wearer,  but  not  so  the 
express  package,  which  contained  a  pair  of  much-needed 
boots  for  Colonel  Clay.  It  lingered  provokingly  along  the 
road  until  we  were  filled  with  apprehension  for  its  safety. 

"Won't  it  break  us  if  all  those  things  are  stolen?"  I 
wrote  my  husband.  "A  thousand  dollars  would  not 
buy  them  now  ! ' '  And  I  said  truly,  for  the  prices  of  the 
commonest    materials    were    enormous.     "Men's    boots 


196  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

here  are  from  sixty  to  eighty  dollars,"  wrote  Mr.  Clay 
from  Richmond ;  and  in  Macon  all  goods  were  a  hundred 
per  cent,  higher  than  they  had  been  in  Huntsville. 
Ordinary  fifteen-cent  muslin  now  sold  in  Georgia  at  two 
and  a  half  dollars  per  yard,  and  "sold  like  hot-cakes"  at 
that.  My  sister  and  I  bought  what  we  could  and  made 
our  husbands'  shirts — knitting  the  heavier  ones — and 
hemmed  their  handkerchiefs;  and  we  rose  to  such  a 
proficiency  with  the  needle  that  we  did  not  hesitate  to 
undertake  the  manufacture  of  vests  and  trousers  of 
washable  stuffs.  I  made  a  pair  of  the  last-named  for  my 
husband's  little  god-son,  Joe  Davis,  and  sent  them  to 
Richmond  by  Colonel  Lamar;  but  I  think  the  dear 
child  did  not  live  to  don  them.  He  died  tragically  at  the 
Executive  home  within  a  year,  the  waves  of  the  war 
quickly  obscuring  from  the  world  about  the  remembrance 
of  the  sweet  baby  face. 

April  had  arrived  when,  journeying  from  Macon  to 
Richmond,  I  had  my  first  real  experience  of  war-time 
travel.  By  this  time  people  were  hurrying  from  place 
to  place  in  every  direction,  some  to  seek  refuge,  and 
some  to  find  or  to  bring  back  their  dead.  The  country 
beyond  the  Georgia  boundary  was  alert,  apprehending 
the  approach  of  the  steadily  advancing  Federals. 
Throughout  the  spring  the  feeling  had  been  rife  that  a 
crucial  period  was  approaching.  My  husband  wrote 
cautioning  me  to  prepare  to  meet  it.  "  During  the 
months  of  April  and  May,"  he  said,  in  a  letter  dated 
March  23d,  "the  result  of  the  war  will  be  decided  by  at 
least  four  of  the  greatest  battles  the  world  has  ever 
witnessed,  near  Charleston  or  Savannah,  Fredericksburg, 
Murfreesboro,  and  Vicksburg  or  Port  Hudson.  If  they 
triumph  on  the  Mississippi,  the  war  will  continue  for 
years ;  if  they  fail  there,  I  cannot  think  it  will  last  longer 
than  Lincoln's  administration,  or  till  March  of  1865.*     I 

*  It  ended  in  April,  1865. 


REFUGEE  DAYS  IN  GEORGIA  197 

regard  events  there  as  the  most  important,  because  the 
Northwest  will  not  aid  the  war  much  longer  if  the  Missis- 
sippi is  not  opened  to  their  trade.  The  result  of  the 
grand  battle  to  come  off  at  the  first  opportunity  between 
Bragg  and  Rosecrans  will  determine  our  movements 
during  the  recess  of  Congress,  and,  it  may  be,  our  destiny 
for  life.  If  we  whip  the  enemy,  our  home  will  again  be 
open  to  us ;  if  he  whips  us,  it  will  fall  under  his  dominion 
for  many  months  to  come,  and  nothing  will  be  left  to  us 
that  he  can  use  or  destroy."  Almost  as  Mr.  Clay  wrote, 
Huntsville  was  again  invested  by  Federal  soldiery,  and 
we  could  not,  if  we  had  wished,  have  returned  to  it. 

When  my  sister  and  I  departed  from  Georgia,  passenger- 
cars  generally  were  impressed  for  the  use  of  soldiers, 
sick  or  wounded,  or  for  those  who  were  hurrying  to  the 
front.  I  heard  of  instances  in  which  travellers,  unable 
to  find  room  in  the  regular  cars,  and  eager  to  get  to  some 
given  point,  begged  for  the  privilege  of  squeezing  into 
the  car  in  which  express  packages  were  carried. 

Having  held  ourselves  for  some  months  in  readiness 
for  the  journey,  we  had  kept  informed  as  to  the  presence 
of  possible  escorts  in  Macon.  Once  we  planned  to  travel 
under  the  protection  of  Captain  Harry  Flash,  a  poet  who 
had  won  some  distinction  for  his  affecting  lines  on  the 
death  of  General  Zollicoffer,  and  his  stirring  verses  on 
the  Confederate  Flag.  It  fell  to  our  lot,  however,  to 
travel  with  two  poets,  who  in  days  to  come  were  to  be 
known  to  a  wider  world.  They  were  Sidney  and  Clifford 
Lanier,  young  soldiers,  then,  on  their  way  to  Virginia. 
Sidney's  sweetheart  lived  in  the  town,  and  the  brothers 
had  stopped  at  Macon  to  make  their  adieux.  Upon 
learning  of  the  objective  destination  of  the  young  men, 
my  sister  and  I  held  out  the  bribe  to  them,  if  they  would 
undertake  to  escort  us,  of  a  fine  luncheon  en  route; 
"  broiled  partridges,  sho'  nuf '  sugar  and  sho'  nuf '  butter, 
and  spring  chickens,  'quality  size,'"  to  which  allure- 


198  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

merits,  I  am  glad  to  say,  the  youthful  poets  succumbed 
with  grace  and  gallantry,  and  we  began  our  journey. 

The  aisles  of  the  cars  were  crowded.  At  many  stations, 
as  we  came  through  North  Carolina,  women  entered  the 
car  with  baskets  of  "big  blues,"  the  luscious  native 
huckleberries,  with  full,  deep  bloom  upon  them;  these 
and  other  tempting  edibles  were  brought  aboard  at  almost 
every  station  along  the  way.  When  our  pleasant  party 
separated  at  Lynchburg,  and  the  youths  sat  alone  in 
their  tents,  they  recalled  in  pages  truly  characteristic 
the  memories  of  that  long  journey,  in  which,  like  tired 
children,  they  had  sometimes  fallen  asleep,  Clifford's 
head  upon  my  sister's  shoulder,  and   Sid's  upon  mine. 

"  I  will  wait  no  longer,"  wrote  Clifford,*  from  the  camp 
near  Suffolk  (Virginia),  on  April  17th,  "but  at  once, 
and  without  cer'emonie,  write  the  little  love  letter  I  have 
promised,  disarming  (if  men,  as  some  one  says  of  flowers, 
'be  jealous  things')  the  jealousy  of  your  Lieges,  by 
addressing  it  to  my  Two  Dear  Friends  and  quondam 
fellow-travellers.  What  a  transition  is  this — from  the 
spring  and  peace  of  Macon,  to  this  muddy  and  war- 
distracted  country !  Going  to  sleep  in  the  moonlight 
and  soft  air  of  Italy,  I  seem  to  have  waked  imbedded 
in  Lapland  snow.  Yet,  as  I  would  not  be  an  Antony, 
with  a  genius  bold,  and  confident  in  Egypt,  but  a  trembler 
and  white-livered,  in  presence  of  Octavius  at  Rome,  I 
summon  all  my  heroism,  doff  that  which  became  me 
when  environed  by  flowers,  poetry,  music  and  blooming 
maidens,  and  don  shield  and  mail  (that's  figurative  for 
Kersey),  prepared  to  resist  ruder  shocks  than  those  of 
love's  arrows.  Par  parenthese,  how  the  Yankees  would 
suffer,  if  we  could  do  our  devoirs  as  bravely  and  as  heartily 
in  the  heat  and  dust  and  smoke  of  battle,  as  in  the 
charmed  air  of  ladies  ! 

*  Then  in  the  Mounted  Signal  Service,  Milligan's  Battalion,  from 
Georgia,  and  on  the  staff  of  General  S.  D.  French,  now  of  Florida.   A.S. 


REFUGEE  DAYS  IN  GEORGIA  199 

"  Enough  about  us.  I  wonder  what  this  will  find  our 
friends  doing?  My  dear  Mrs.  Celeste?  Embroidering 
the  Senatorial  laticlave  or  musing  on  sweet  Macon, 
sweeter  Huntsville?  Mrs.  Virginia?  In  whatever  mood 
or  occupation,  it  is  agreed  you  have  this  advantage  of 
us:  you  carry  your  sunshine  with  you;  we  men,  being 
but  opaque  and  lunatic  bodies,  can  give  light  only  by 
reflection.  Imagine,  then,  in  what  '  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness '  we  revolve  here.  If  you  would  throw  a  ray  through 
this  darkness,  show  us  one  glimpse  of  the  blue  sky  through 
all  this  battle-smoke,  write  to  us,  directing  care  General 
French,  Franklin,  Virginia.  I  shall  regard,  most  affec- 
tionately, the  carrier  who  brings  such  intelligence  from 
that  office  to  these  headquarters.  The  huge  shell  that 
has  just  shrieked  across  the  intervening  distance  from 
the  enemy's  trenches  to  our  pickets,  and  exploding,  is 
not  yet  done  reverberating,  reminds  me  that  I  might 
tell  you  a  little  of  our  situation   here. 

"The  reticence  of  our  General  forbids  all  knowledge 
of  his  plans  and  ultimate  designs.  I  can  only  say  that 
our  army,  embracing  three  divisions,  closely  invests 
Suffolk  on  three  sides,  its  water  and  railroad  com- 
munications into  Norfolk  being  still  complete,  except 
that  General  French,  having  possession  of  one  bank  of 
the  river,  is  working  hard  to  get  into  position  guns  of 
sufficient  calibre  to  destroy  their  gun-boats.  That,  in 
the  meantime,  large  foraging  parties  and  immense  wagon- 
trains  have  been  sent  out  for  provisions.  So  that  this 
of  forage  may  be  the  grand  design  after  all,  and  instead 
of  living  that  we  may  fight,  are  fighting  that  we  may 
live,  the  latter  being  a  very  desperate  situation,  but  the 
more  laudable  endeavour  of  the  two,  perilling  our  lives, 
not  only  for  the  vitality  of  our  principles  as  patriots,  but 
for  the  very  sustenance  of  our  lives  as  men,  seeking  corn 
and  bacon  as  well  as  the  'bubble  reputation  at  the  can- 
non's  mouth.'     But  I  began  a  love-letter;    I  fear  I  am 


2oo  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

ending  most  unetherially.  Starting  to  wing  a  flight  across 
the  sea,  Icarus-like,  my  wings  have  proved  to  be  of  wax, 
melting  with  a  too  near  approach  to  the  sun,  and  I  find 
myself  floundering,  and  clearing  my  nose  and  eyes  and 
mouth  of  the  enveloping  salt  water.  Being  not  even  a 
swimmer,  I  escape  drowning  by  ending  (Icarus  found 
nereids  and  yellow-haired  nymphs  to  assist  him),  with 
much  love  to  your  husbands,  and  an  infinite  quantity  to 
yourselves,  Yours, 

"Cliff  Lanier." 

"God  bless  you  both.  Write  to  us!"  said  Sid.,  our 
dear  Orpheus  of  the  South.  "  Have  you  ever,  my  Two 
Good  Friends,  wandered,  in  an  all-night's  dream,  through 
exquisite  flowery  mosses,  through  labyrinthine  grottoes, 
'full  of  all  sparkling  and  sparry  loveliness,'  over  moun- 
tains of  unknown  height,  by  abysses  of  unfathomable 
depth,  all  beneath  skies  of  an  infinite  brightness  caused 
by  no  sun;  strangest  of  all,  wandered  about  in  wonder, 
as  if  you  had  lived  an  eternity  in  the  familiar  contem- 
plation of  such  things  ? 

"And  when,  at  morning,  you  have  waked  from  such 
a  dream  and  gone  about  your  commonplace  round 
of  life,  have  you  never  stopped  suddenly  to  gaze 
at  the  sun  and  exclaimed  to  yourself,  'what  a  singular 
thing  it  is  up  there;  and  these  houses,  bless  me,  what 
funny  institutions,  not  at  all  like  my  grottoes  and 
bowers,  in  which  I  have  lived  for  all  eternity;  and  those 
men  and  women  walking  about  there,  uttering  strange 
gibberish,  and  cramming  horrid  messes  of  stuff  in  their 
mouths,  what  dear,  odd  creatures !  What  does  it  all 
mean,  anyhow,  and  who  did  it,  and  how  is  one  to  act, 
under  the  circumstances?' 

"  If  you  have  dreamed,  thought  and  felt  so,  you  can 
realise  the  imbecile  stare  with  which  I  gaze  on  all  this 
life  that  goes  on  around  me  here.     Macon  was  my  two- 


REFUGEE  DAYS  IN  GEORGIA  201 

weeks'  dream.     I  wake  from  that  into  Petersburg,  an 
indefinitely  long,  real  life.     .     .     . 

"Sid  Lanier." 

Of  the  after  months  of  '63,  the  story  of  my  life  is  one 
of  continuous  change.  I  migrated  between  Richmond 
and  our  kin  at  Petersburg,  paying  an  occasional  visit  to 
Warrenton,  North  Carolina,  so  long  as  the  roads  were 
open,  or  sometimes  visiting  our  friends,  the  McDaniels, 
at  Danville;  sometimes,  accompanied  by  our  sister,  I 
made  a  visit  to  the  near-by  camps,  or  to  the  multiplying 
colonies  of  the  sick  and  wounded.  He  was  a  fortunate 
soldier  in  those  terrible  days,  who  fell  into  the  hands  of 
private  nurses.  Patients  in  the  hospitals  suffered,  even 
for  necessary  medicines.  Sugar  was  sold  at  fifty  Con- 
federate dollars  a  pound.  Vegetables  and  small  fruits 
were  exceedingly  scarce.  My  visits  to  the  hospital  wards 
were  by  no  means  so  constant  as  those  of  many  of  my 
friends,  yet  I  remember  one  poor  little  Arkansas  boy  in 
whom  I  became  interested,  and  went  frequently  to  see, 
wending  my  way  to  his  cot  through  endless  wards, 
where  an  army  of  sick  men  lay,  minus  an  arm,  or  leg, 
or  with  bandaged  heads  that  told  of  fearful  encounters. 
The  drip — drip  of  the  water  upon  their  wounds  to  prevent 
the  development  of  a  greater  evil  is  one  of  the  most 
horrible  remembrances  I  carry  of  those  days.  I  went 
through  the  aisles  of  the  sick  one  morning,  to  see  my  little 
patient,  a  lad  of  seventeen,  not  more.  Above  the  pillow 
his  hat  was  hung,  and  a  sheet  was  drawn  over  the  cot 
— and  the  tale  was  told. 

In  Richmond,  Miss  Emily  Mason  (sister  of  John  Y. 
and  James  M.  Mason),  and  Mrs.  General  Lee  were  inde- 
fatigable in  their  hospital  work;  and  Mrs.  Phoebe  Pember, 
sister  of  Mrs.  Philip  Phillips,  was  a  prominent  member  of  a 
regularly  organised  Hospital  Committee,  who,  afterward, 
recorded  her  experiences  in  an  interesting  volume,  reflect- 


202  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

ing  the  gay  as  well  as  the  grave  scenes  through  which  she 
had  passed  ;  for,  happily,  in  the  experiences  of  these 
self-sacrificing  nurses  there  was  often  a  mingling  of  the 
comical  with  the  serious  which  had  its  part  in  relieving 
the  nerve-tension  of  our  noble  women.  On  every  side  the 
inevitable  was  plainly  creeping  toward  us.  The  turmoil 
in  the  governmental  body  augmented  constantly.  The 
more  patriotic  recognised  that  only  in  increased  taxation 
lay  the  prolonging  of  our  national  life ;  but,  at  the  mention 
of  such  measure,  protests  poured  in  from  many  sides. 
Our  poor,  wearied  citizens  could  ill  sustain  a  further 
drain  upon  them.  To  the  credit  of  my  sex,  however,  we 
never  complained.  No  Roman  matron,  no  Spartan 
mother,  ever  thrilled  more  to  the  task  of  supporting 
her  warriors,  than  did  we  women  of  the  South  land ! 
To  the  end  we  held  it  to  be  a  proud  privilege  to  sacrifice 
where  by  so  doing  we  might  hold  up  the  hands  of  our 
heroes  in  field  or  forum. 

"  I  pity  those  who  have  no  country  to  love  or  to  fight 
for!"  wrote  Mrs.  Yulee,  the  "Madonna  of  the  Wickliffe 
sisters,"  from  her  home  in  Florida.  "It  is  this  very 
country  of  yours  and  mine  that  induces  me  to  write 
this  letter.  I  want  you  to  use  your  influence  (you  have 
much)  to  induce  those  law-makers  to  come  up  to  our 
necessities.  Tax !  tax !  tax  our  people  to  half  we  have, 
if  necessary,  but  let  the  world  know  we  are  paying ! 
Ten  victories  will  not  give  the  Yankees  such  a  blow  as 
this  fact.  Now,  Mrs.  Clay,  God  has  given  you  many 
friends.  Stir  them  up  to  their  duty !  .  .  .  Bragg's 
defeat  fills  us  all  with  gloom,  yet  we  are  not  discouraged. 
I  have  never  felt  a  doubt  of  my  country,  but  dark  and 
painful  trials  are  yet  before  us,  perhaps  ! " 

Alas !     Alas ! 


CHAPTER  XV 
C.    C.    Clay,    Jr.,    Departs    for   Canada 

I  was  in  Richmond  at  my  husband's  side  when  Dahl- 
gren's  raid  was  made.  Early  one  morning  the  cry  of 
danger  came.  We  were  still  at  breakfast,  when  Senator 
Henry,  of  Tennessee,  hurried  in.  "No  Senate  to-day, 
Clay  ! "  he  cried.  "  A  big  force  of  the  enemy  is  at  Lyons's, 
and  every  man  in  the  city  is  needed  !  Arm  yourself, 
and  come  on  ! "  and  he  hastened  on  his  way  to  warn 
others.  Members  of  Congress  shouldered  guns,  where 
they  could  get  them,  and  mounted  guard  around  the 
capital.  They  were  an  untrained  mass,  but  they  came 
back  victors  and  deliverers  of  the  city. 

The  armies  having  gone  into  winter  quarters,  as  the 
close  of  Mr.  Clay's  Senatorial  career  in  Richmond  drew 
near,  he  seriously  contemplated  a  period  of  needed  rest 
from  public  duties.  Bent  upon  this,  he  declined  a 
judgeship  in  the  Military  Court,  which  had  been  pressed 
upon  him  by  Mr.  Davis.  We  dallied  with  enticing  invi- 
tations that  reached  us  from  Florida,  and  planned  what 
was  to  be  a  veritable  vacation  at  last,  together. 

"Mr.  Yulee  is  delighted  with  the  hope  of  seeing  you  ! " 
wrote  the  lovely  chatelaine  of  "Homosassa."  "He 
will  fish  with  Mr.  Clay,  and  we  will  do  the  same !  Just 
think  how  good  oysters  will  be  in  these  sad  times  !  Do 
come,  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clay,  just  as  soon  as  Congress 
adjourns  !  My  dear  sister,  Mrs.  Holt,  had  a  tender  and 
sincere  affection  for  you.     ...     " 

The  prospect  of  a  visit  to  that  lovely  retreat,  built 
upon  an  island,  deep  in  the  green  glades  of  Florida  and 

203 


2o4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

far  away  from  the  political  and  martial  strife  of  the  inter- 
vening States,  was  very  tempting  to  my  wearied  husband, 
a  true  lover  of  woods  and  trees  and  the  sweet  solitudes 
of  a  bucolic  life ;  but  we  were  destined  not  to  enjoy  it. 
Early  in  the  spring  of  '64,  Mr.  Clay  felt  it  his  duty  to 
accept  the  high  responsibility  of  a  diplomatic  mission  to 
Canada,  with  a  view  to  arousing  in  the  public  mind  of 
this  near-by  British  territory  a  sympathy  for  our  cause 
and  country  that  should  induce  a  suspension  of  hostilities. 
Despite  the  failure  of  our  representatives  in  European 
countries  to  rouse  apathetic  kings  and  dilly-dallying 
emperors  to  come  to  our  aid,  it  was  hard  for  us  to  believe 
that  our  courage  would  not  be  rewarded  at  length  by 
some  powerful  succour,  or  yielding. 

"I  send  you  my  speech,"  wrote  dear  Lamar  to  me 
from  his  sick-bed  in  Oxford,  Georgia,  so  late  as  June,  '64. 
"  The  views  presented  in  reference  to  Louis  Napoleon  may 
strike  you  as  at  variance  with  some  of  the  acts,  in  which 
his  Imperial  Highness  has  done  some  very  uncivil  things 
in  a  very  civil  way.  But  his  sympathy  is  with  us.  It 
is  his  policy  to  frighten  the  Yankees  into  acquiescence  in 
his  Mexican  enterprise,  and  he  no  doubt  would  be  glad  to 
give  French  neutrality  in  American  affairs  for  Yankee 
neutrality  in  Mexican  affairs.  In  this  he  will  fail,  and 
he  will  sooner  or  later  find  his  policy  and  inclinations 
jump  together.  After  all,  the  British  people  are  more 
friendly  to  us  than  all  the  world  besides,  outside  of  the 
[question  of]  Southern  Confederacy.  This  friendship, 
like  most  national  friendships,  is  mixed  up  with  a  large 
part  of  alloy,  fear  of  the  Yankees  forming  the  base.  But 
respect  for  the  South  and  admiration  of  her  position 
is  the  pure  metal,  and  there  is  enough  of  it  to  make  their 
good-will  valuable  to  us." 

So  thought  many  of  our  noblest  statesmen,  when,  early 
in  the  Spring,  Mr.  Clay  started  on  his  way  through  our 
blockaded  coast  for  Canada.      "I  earnestly  desire  that 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  DEPARTS  FOR  CANADA    205 

his  services  may  prove  effectual  in  securing  a  permanent 
peace  to  our  bleeding  country;  that  his  efforts  may  be 
recorded  as  one  of  the  brightest  pages  in  its  history," 
wrote  one;  and  from  every  quarter  Mr.  Clay  and  his 
companions  were  followed  by  the  prayers  of  a  people, 
wrung  from  hearts  agonised  by  our  long,  exhausting 
strife.  When  the  parting  came,  the  shadow  of  impending 
evil  fell  so  blackly  upon  my  soul,  I  hastened  away  from 
disturbed  Petersburg,  accompanied  by  my  faithful  maid, 
Emily,  and  her  child,  determined  to  act  upon  Mr.  Clay's 
suggestion  and  seek  my  kin  in  Georgia.  Petersburg  was 
in  the  greatest  confusion,  guns  resounding  in  every  direc- 
tion. Our  dear  Aunt  Dollie  Walker,  the  saint,  whose 
faith  (her  Bishop  said)  had  kept  Episcopalianism  alive 
in  Virginia  through  those  troublous  times,  told  us  in  after 
days  of  having  been  literally  chased  up  the  streets  by 
cannon  balls.  It  was  one  of  the  best  cities  in  the  Con- 
federacy at  that  period  to  get  away  from. 

I  began  my  journey  southward,  pausing  a  day  or  two 
at  Danville;  but,  fearing  each  moment  to  hear  news  of 
the  appearance  of  impeding  armies,  blocking  my  way 
through  the  Carolinas,  I  hastened  on.  The  news  from 
the  capital  which  reached  us  while  in  Petersburg  had 
been  of  the  worst. 

"You  have  no  idea  of  the  intense  excitement,"  wrote 
my  sister.  "  I  am  so  nervous  I  know  not  what  to  write  ! 
No  one  goes  to  bed  here  at  night.  For  several  nights 
past  no  one  could  have  slept  for  the  confusion  and  noise. 
The  city  has  been  in  a  perfect  uproar  for  a  week.  We 
have  heard  firing  in  two  directions  all  the  morning,  on 
the  Brook  Turnpike  and  at  Drewry's  Bluff.  The  wounded 
are  being  brought  into  the  city  in  great  numbers.  General 
Walker  is  wounded  !  Poor  General  Stafford's  death  cast 
a  gloom  over  the  city.  I  went  with  Mr.  Davis  to  his 
funeral,  and  carried  flowers !     .  General  Benning 

is  wounded,   and  Colonel  Lamar,   our  dear  L.    Q.   C.'s 


2o6  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

brother,  also.  ...  At  the  wedding"  [of  Miss  Lyons] 
"you  never  saw  such  disorder  in  God's  house  before  in 
your  life.  Mrs.  Davis  and  Mrs.  Mallory  and  Mrs.  Most- 
everybody-else,  stood  up  in  the  pews,  and  you  could  not 
hear  one  word  of  the  service  for  the  noise.  Mr.  Davis 
was  there — Mrs.  Chestnut  sat  with  me.  She  is  going  home 
very  soon,  so  the  Colonel  told  me.  He  said  it  was  impos- 
sible for  her  to  remain  in  Richmond  with  nothing  to  eat ! " 

To  my  sister's  panorama  of  horrors,  our  brother,  who 
was  stationed  in  Richmond,  added  a  masculine  picture. 

"The  enemy  press  us  sorely  with  powerful  forces  of 
cavalry  and  infantry,"  he  wrote.  "The  former  cut  off 
our  communications  everywhere,  hoping  to  reduce  Lee 
to  starvation,  and  the  presence  of  the  latter  keeps  from 
him  reinforcements  that  otherwise  would  be  promptly 
sent.  We  have  lost  severely  around  the  city.  General 
Stuart  was  shot  by  a  Yankee  soldier  who  fired  upon  him 
at  ten  paces  as  he  galloped  past  him.  He  died  last  night, 
about  twenty-eight  hours  after  he  received  the  wound. 
Brigadier  General  Gordon,  also  of  the  cavalry,  had  his 
arm  shattered  yesterday  above  the  elbow,  and  'tis  said 
will  probably  have  to  suffer  amputation.  Mr.  Randolph, 
the  'Sir  Anthony  Absolute'  of  your  play,  was  wounded 
yesterday  in  the  shoulder  and  thigh,  and  will  lose  the 
limb  to-day.  All  the  clerks  of  the  office  are  in  the 
intrenchments  and  no  work  goes  on!" 

Upon  learning  of  my  determination  to  push  on  to 
Georgia,  our  sister  put  away  her  anxiety  and  grew 
facetious  at  my  expense.  "  I  am  inclined  to  think  you 
are  a  great  coward,"  she  wrote.  "Why  did  you  run 
from  Petersburg?  ...  I  am  almost  ashamed  of 
you !  You  never  catch  me  running  from  Yankees ! 
Georgia  is  certainly  a  safe  place.  .  .  .  When  we 
have  killed  all  the  Yankees  and  the  city  is  perfectly  quiet, 
I  invite  you  to  come  on  and  see  us.  .  .  .  I  am  weary 
from  walking  (not  running)  to  see  the  wounded!" 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  DEPARTS  FOR  CANADA  207 

A  month  or  so  later  and  my  sweet  sister,  speeding  to 
overtake  me,  joined  me  at  Macon,  in  time  to  accompany 
me  to  the  home  of  our  friend,  Mrs.  Winter,  in  Columbus. 
Here,  to  compensate  for  the  tribulations  of  the  past 
months,  we  were  promised  the  most  care-free  of  summers. 
Refugees  were  flocking  to  that  land  of  safety  and  plenty 
just  then,  and  whether  in  Macon  or  Columbus,  our  time 
was  spent  in  welcoming  late-comers,  in  visiting  and 
exchanging  news  or  comment  of  the  times,  or  making 
little  excursions  to  near-by  towns.  Once  we  formed  a 
party  and  visited  the  "White  Farm"  of  Augusta  Evans, 
then  unmarried.  It  was  a  unique  place  and  celebrated 
for  the  unsullied  whiteness  of  every  bird  and  beast  on 
the  place. 

Upon  our  arrival  at  our  friend's  home  in  Columbus, 
we  found  a  very  active  field  awaiting  us.  It  was 
now  mid-summer  of  '64,  somewhat  after  the  bloody 
battle  of  Atlanta.  In  anticipation  of  our  coming, 
Mrs.  Winter  had  prepared  her  largest  and  coolest  rooms 
for  us.  All  was  ready  and  we  about  due  to  arrive,  when 
an  unforeseen  incident  frustrated  our  hostess's  plans  in 
regard  of  our  intended  pleasuring,  and  put  us  all  to  more 
serious  work.  It  was  in  the  late  afternoon  when  our 
friend,  driving  in  her  calash  along  the  boundaries  of  the 
town,  came  upon  a  pitiful  sight.  Near  a  group  of  tents 
a  sick  man,  a  soldier,  lay  writhing  upon  the  ground  in  a 
delirium,  while  near  by  and  watching  him  stood  his 
alarmed  and  helpless  coloured  servant.  Mrs.  Winter, 
aroused  to  pity  by  the  sight,  immediately  gave  orders 
that  the  sufferer  be  carried  to  her  home,  where  he  was 
placed  in  the  room  that  had  been  prepared  for  me. 

When  my  sister  and  I  arrived,  a  few  hours  afterward, 
our  sympathies,  too,  were  at  once  enlisted  for  the  un- 
fortunate man.  He  proved  to  be  Captain  Octave 
Vallette,  a  Creole,  who,  previous  to  his  enlistment,  with 
his  brother,  had  been  a  ship-builder  at  Algiers,  Louisiana. 


2o8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

A  physician  was  already  in  attendance  when  my 
sister  and  I  arrived,  and  an  examination  of  the  invalid's 
wounds  was  making. 

A  week  had  elapsed  since  the  first  hasty  dressing  of 
the  wound,  and  the  blackened  flesh  now  suggested  the 
approach  of  the  dreaded  gangrene. 

The  cleansing  of  the  dreadful  wound  was  a  terrible 
ordeal.  For  days  the  patient  raved,  and  to  us,  just 
from  the  camps  and  hospitals  of  Virginia,  his  frenzied 
words  conveyed  most  vivid  pictures  of  the  experiences 
our  men  were  meeting  in  the  deadly  fray. 

"  God  !  What  a  hole  for  soldiers  to  be  in  ! "  he  would 
cry ;  and  then  would  mumble  on  incoherently  until,  in  an 
accession  of  fevered  strength,  he  would  burst  out,  "Give 
them  hell,  boys  !"  while  his  negro  man  stood  by,  blinded 
by  tears. 

Finally,  however,  our  care  was  rewarded,  and  our  in- 
valid began  slowly  to  recover.  The  first  day  he  was 
able  to  ebdure  it,  we  took  the  Captain  to  drive  in  Mrs. 
Winter's  calash.  He  was  still  weak,  and  very  melan- 
choly; the  injured  arm  was  stiff  and  all  but  a  useless 
member.  We  tried  to  cheer  him  by  merry  talk. 
"Surely,"  we  said  at  last,  as  we  drove  by  a  new-made 
cemetery,  with  its  bare  little  whitewashed  head-boards, 
"weak  as  you  are,  isn't  this  a  great  deal  better  than 
lying  out  there  with  a  board  at  your  head  marked 
'  O.  V. '  ? "     At  this  he  smiled,  but  grimly. 

The  ensuing  months  to  me  were  a  time  of  indecision. 
My  sister  departed  to  rejoin  her  husband  in  Richmond, 
and  I,  feeling  quite  cut  off  from  those  nearest  to  me, 
formed  numerous  plans  for  leaving  the  Confederate 
States.  I  wished  to  go  to  Mr.  Clay  in  Canada,  or  to 
England,  where  so  many  dear  friends  were  already 
installed ;  and  so  earnestly  did  this  desire  fix  itself  in  my 
mind  that  wheels  were  set  in  motion  for  the  securing  of 
a  passport.     My  friends   in  Richmond   and  in  Georgia 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  DEPARTS  FOR  CANADA  209 

urged  me  to  reconsider.  Mr.  Clay  might  even  then  be  on 
his  way  home ;  would  I  not  come  to  the  capital  and  wait  ? 
But  I  declined,  and  kind  Secretary  Mallory  acceded  to 
my  wishes,  though  cautioning  me  against  our  enemies  on 
the  seas.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  send  you  abroad  in  a 
public  vessel,"  he  wrote,  as  he  inclosed  Mr.  Seddon's  pass- 
port, "but  I  have  not  a  blockade  runner  under  my 
control. 

"You  will,  of  course,  avoid  Bermuda  and  Nassau. 
The  yellow-fever  still  rages  and  embraces  new-comers  at 
the  very  beach;  and  knowing  that  nothing  on  earth 
would  ever  fail  to  embrace  you  that  had  the  power  of 
doing  so,  and  having  a  painful  experience  of  his  warm 
and  glowing  nature,  I  am  anxious  that  you  shall  keep 
out  of  his  way.  .  .  .  Angela  and  Ruby  send  their 
love.  They  regret,  with  me,  that  your  promised  visit  to 
us  is  not  to  be  paid." 

Yet,  after  all  these  preparations  I  remained;  for,  as 
the  weeks  passed,  it  seemed  clear  Mr.  Clay  was  likely  to 
arrive  at  any  time.  His  associate,  Professor  Holcombe, 
had  already  returned,  though  wrecked  off  the  coast  of 
Wilmington.  Whole  ship-loads  of  cotton,  which  had 
succeeded  in  running  the  blockade  and  which  we  fondly 
hoped  would  replenish  our  pocket-books,  had  gone  to 
the  bottom.  On  the  whole,  travel  by  sea  grew  less  and 
less  attractive.  I  concluded  to  remain  on  terra  firma, 
but  to  go  on  toward  Augusta  and  Beech  Island,  South 
Carolina,  that  I  might  be  nearer  the  coast  when  Mr. 
Clay  should  arrive.  Ere  I  left  Columbus  I  had  a  ludi- 
crous adventure.  Upon  coming  downstairs  one  morn- 
ing, I  saw,  approaching  the  outer,  wide-open  door, 
a  large,  portly  figure  clad  in  Macon  Mills  muslin. 
Beyond  him,  in  the  street,  a  wagon  stood,  or  was 
passing.  It  was  loaded  with  watermelons.  As  I 
noted  them  and  the  figure  approaching,  I  connected  the 
two  at  once,  and  called  back  to  my  hostess,  with  all  the 


2io  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

enthusiasm  for  which  I  was  ever  famous  at  the  near 
prospect  of  a  "million,"  "Cousin  Victoria!  Don't  you 
want  some  melons?  Here's  a  watermelon  man!"  To 
my  surprise,  as  I  neared  the  door  a  hearty  laugh  rang 
out;  a  cordial  hand  was  extended  to  me,  and  I  recognised 
before  me  genial,  jovial  General  Howell  Cobb,  who  had 
left  his  military  duties  for  the  moment,  in  order  to 
welcome  me  to  Georgia.  His  long  beard,  which  he 
declared  he  never  would  shave  until  our  cause  was  won, 
together  with  the  copperas  and  unbleached  suit  of  muslin, 
had  quite  disguised  him  for  the  moment. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Departed  Glories  of  the  South  Land 

My  memories  would  be  incomplete  were  I  to  fail  to 
include  in  them  a  description  of  plantation  life  that  may 
be  taken  as  a  type  of  the  beautiful  homes  of  the  South 
in  that  long  ago  before  the  Civil  War.  From  Maryland 
to  Louisiana  there  had  reigned,  since  colonial  times,  an 
undisturbed,  peaceful,  prosperous  democracy,  based  upon 
an  institution  beneficial  alike  to  master  and  servant.  It 
was  implanted  in  the  South  by  the  English  settlers,  ap- 
proved by  the  English  rulers,  and  fostered  by  thrifty 
merchants  of  New  England,  glad  to  traffic  in  black  men 
so  long  as  there  were  black  men  upon  the  African  coasts 
who  might  be  had  in  exchange  for  a  barrel  of  rum. 
Generations  living  under  these  conditions  had  evolved  a 
domestic  discipline  in  Southern  homes  which  was  of  an 
ideal  order.  Nothing  resembling  it  had  existed  in 
modern  times.  To  paraphrase  the  nursery  rhyme,  the 
planter  was  in  his  counting-house  counting  out  his 
money;  his  wife  was  in  the  parlour  eating  bread  and 
honey;  the  man  servant  was  by  his  master's  side,  the 
maid  with  her  mistress,  the  meat-cook  at  his  spit  and 
the  bread-cook  at  the  marble  block  where  the  delicious 
beaten  biscuit  were  made  in  plenty.  The  laundress 
was  in  the  laundry  (Chinamen  then  in  China) ,  and  in  the 
nursery  lived,  ever  at  her  post,  the  sable  sentinel  of 
cribs  and  cradles,  the  skilful  manufacturer  of  possets  and 
potions.  None  but  a  Southerner  to  the  manner  born 
can  appreciate  or  imagine  the  tie  that  bound  us  of  that 
old-time  South    to   our  dear  black  mammy,   in  whose 

211 


2i2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

capacious  lap  the  little  ones  confided  to  her  care  cuddled 
in  innocent  slumber. 

Fruitful  vineyards  and  gardens  furnished  our  luxuries, 
and  talent  and  faithful  public  service  were  the  criterion 
of  social  standing.  Of  those  bygone  days,  Mr.  E.  Spann 
Hammond  *  recently  wrote,  "To  me  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
been  in  two  worlds,  and  two  existences,  the  old  and  the 
new,  and  to  those  knowing  only  the  latter,  the  old  will 
appear  almost  like  mythology  and  romance,  so  thorough 
has  been  the  upheaval  and  obliteration  of  the  methods 
and  surroundings  of  the  past." 

Yes  !  the  old  glories  have  passed  away,  but  even  those 
who  destroyed  them,  looking  back  to  that  time  and  that 
Southern  civilisation,  recognise  to-day  how  enviable  were 
our  solidarity  as  a  people,  our  prosperity  and  the  moral 
qualities  that  are  characteristic  of  the  South.  "  I  have 
learned  not  only  to  respect,  but  to  love  the  great  qual- 
ities which  belong  to  my  fellow  citizens  of  the  South- 
ern States,"  said  Senator  Hoar,  recently.  "Their  love 
of  home,  their  chivalrous  respect  for  women,  their  cour- 
age, their  delicate  sense  of  honour,  their  constancy, 
which  can  abide  by  an  appearance  or  a  purpose  or  an 
interest  for  their  States  through  adversity,  and  through 
prosperity,  through  years  and  through  generations,  are 
things  by  which  the  more  mercurial  people  of  the  North 
may  take  a  lesson.  And  there  is  another  thing,"  he 
added,  "the  low  temptation  of  money  has  not  found  any 
place  in  our  Southern  politics." 

It  was  my  good  fortune  during  the  late  autumn  and 
winter  of  1864  to  be  invited  to  take  refuge  in  a  spacious 
and  representative  plantation  home  in  South  Carolina, 
where  the  conditions  that  obtained  were  so  typically 
those  of  the  Southern  home  that  I  could  choose  no  better 
example  for  description,  were  I  to  scan  here  the 
numberless  instances  of  a  similar  character,   known  to 

*  Son  of  Senator  Hammond,  of  South  Carolina. 


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SENATOR  JAMES  H.  HAMMOND 
of  South  Carolina 


DEPARTED  GLORIES  OF  THE  SOUTH  LAND    213 

me  before  those  unquiet  days.  "Redcliffe,"  the  home 
of  Senator  Hammond,  is  still  a  point  of  interest  to  travel- 
lers, and  a  beautiful  feature  of  the  landscape  in  which  it 
is  set.  It  is  built  upon  a  high  knoll  on  Beech  Island, 
South  Carolina,  and  is  visible  to  the  naked  eye  at  a  distance 
of  thirty-five  miles.  It  lies  within  view  of  Sand  Hill, 
where  the  famous  Madame  Le  Vert  spent  her  declining 
years,  and  is  pointed  out  to  the  visitor  by  the  residents 
of  Augusta,  Georgia,  and  the  smaller  towns  about,  as  an 
object  of  local  admiration  and  pride.  In  the  decades 
preceding  the  war  it  was  owned  by  Governor,  afterward 
Senator,  James  H.  Hammond,  a  wealthy  man  in  his  own 
right,  whose  possessions  were  greatly  increased  by  his 
marriage  to  Miss  Catherine  Fitzsimmons.  Miss  Fitz- 
simmons  was  a  daughter  of  one  of  South  Carolina's 
richest  citizens,  and  brought  to  Governor  Hammond  a 
splendid  dowry.  Her  sister  became  the  wife  of  Colonel 
Wade  Hampton,  who  had  been  on  General  Jackson's 
staff  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and  whose  son, 
General  and  Senator  Wade  Hampton,  served  in  the  same 
Congress  with  Senator  Hammond.  While  in  Washington, 
the  latter,  distinguished  alike  for  his  reserve  and  scholarli- 
ness,  became  known  as  the  "Napoleon  of  the  Senate." 
He  was  no  lover  of  public  life,  however,  and  the  senatorial 
office  was  literally  thrust  upon  him.  Especially  as  the 
strenuousness  in  Congress  increased,  his  desire  deepened 
to  remain  among  his  people  and  to  develop  what  was,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  most  productive  plantations  in  South 
Carolina.  The  estate  of  "  Redcliffe  "  was  stocked  with  the 
finest  of  Southdowns,  with  sleek,  blooded  kine,  and 
horses,  and  a  full  flock  of  Angora  goats.  The  prolific 
"  Redcliffe  "  vineyards  yielded  unusual  varieties  of  grapes, 
planted  and  cared  for  by  white  labourers.  Four  hundred 
slaves  or  more  were  owned  by  Senator  Hammond,  but 
these  were  set  to  less  skill-demanding  duties.  For  the 
planting  of  this  vineyard,  forty  acres  of  land,  sub-soiled 


2i4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  a  depth  of  three  feet,  were  set  apart,  and  the  clear, 
straw-coloured  wine  for  which  the  Senator's  cellar  was 
famous  came  from  his  own  wine-presses. 

On  the  plantation  was  a  large  grist-mill,  from  which 
every  human  creature  in  that  vast  family  was  fed.  It 
was  a  big,  heavy  timbered  building,  grey  even  then  with 
age,  and  run  by  water.  Here  the  corn  was  crushed 
between  the  upper  and  the  nether  mill-stones,  and  so 
skilful  was  the  miller  that  each  could  have  his  hominy 
ground  as  coarse  or  as  fine  as  his  fancy  dictated,  and 
all  the  sweetness  of  the  corn  left  in  it  besides.  The 
miller  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but  he  needed  no  aid 
to  his  memory.  For  years  he  had  known  whose  meal- 
bag  it  was  that  had  the  red  patch  in  the  corner.  He 
knew  each  different  knot  as  well  as  he  knew  the  negros' 
faces,  and  if  any  of  the  bags  presented  had  holes  in  it  the 
miller  would  surely  make  its  owner  wait  till  the  last. 

Lower  down  on  the  same  water-course  was  the  saw- 
mill, which  had  turned  out  all  the  lumber  used  in  the 
building  of  "Redcliffe."  On  one  occasion  it  happened 
that  this  mill,  needing  some  repairs,  a  great  difficulty  was 
encountered  in  the  adjustment  of  the  mud-sills,  upon 
which  the  solidity  of  the  whole  superstructure  depended. 
The  obstacles  to  be  removed  were  great,  and  it  cost 
much  time  and  money  to  overcome  them.  While  Mr. 
Hammond  was  Senator,  and  in  the  official  chamber  was 
grappling  with  the  problem  of  labour  and  capital,  his 
experience  with  the  mud-sills  was  opportunely  recalled, 
and  his  application  of  that  name  to  certain  of  the  labour- 
ing classes  at  once  added  to  his  reputation  for  ready 
wit. 

On  the  "Redcliffe"  plantation  the  blacksmith  was  to 
be  found  at  his  forge,  the  wheelwright  in  his  shop,  and 
the  stock-minder  guarding  the  welfare  of  his  charges. 
Measured  by  the  standard  that  a  man  has  not  lived  in 
vain  who  makes  two  blades  of  grass  to  grow  where  but 


DEPARTED  GLORIES  OF  THE  SOUTH  LAND    215 

one  grew  before,  Senator  Hammond  might  have  been 
crowned  King  of  agricultural  enterprise,  for  his  highest 
producing  corn-lands  before  he  rescued  them  had  been 
impassible  swamp-lands.  Drained  and  put  under  culti- 
vation, their  yield  was  enormous,  no  less  than  eighty 
bushels  of  corn  being  the  average  quantity  to  the  acre. 
There  was  scarcely  a  corner  of  the  old  "  stake-and-rider 
fences ' '  in  which  Mr.  Hammond  did  not  cause  to  be 
planted  a  peach  or  apple  or  other  fruit  tree. 

Our  cousin  Miss  Comer,  who  late  in  the  fifties  married 
the  son  of  Senator  Hammond,  and  made  her  home  at 
"Redcliffe,"  though  accustomed  to  affluent  plantation 
life,  was  at  once  impressed  by  the  splendid  system  that 
directed  the  colony  of  slaves  at  Beech  Island.  Each 
marriage  and  birth  and  death  that  took  place  among 
them  was  registered  with  great  exactness.  The  Senator's 
business  ability  was  remarkable.  He  knew  his  every 
possession  to  the  most  minute  particular.  The  Hammond 
slaves  formed  an  exclusive  colony,  which  was  conducted 
with  all  the  strictness  of  a  little  republic.  They  were  a 
happy,  orderly,  cleanly,  and  carefree  lot,  and  Mr.  Ham- 
mond was  wont  to  say  that  if  the  doctrine  of  transmi- 
gration of  souls  was  true,  he  would  like  to  have  his  soul 
come  back  and  inhabit  one  of  his  "darkies." 

I  have  said  they  were  an  exclusive  colony.  My 
pretty  little  cousin  realised  this  upon  her  arrival  at 
"Glen  Loula,"  a  charming  residence  named  for  her,  and 
set  apart  for  the  young  couple  by  the  owner  of  "Red- 
cliffe." 

"The  Hammond  negro,  as  I  have  found  him,"  she 
wrote,  "  has  a  decided  personal  vanity,  and  nothing  will 
offend  him  more  than  to  have  you  forget  his  name. 
For  a  long  time  after  coming  I  felt  I  was  not  exactly 
admitted  by  the  different  servants  as  '  one  ob  de  f ambly. ' 
In  fact,  it  was  plain  I  was  on  trial,  being  'weighed  in 
the  balance  ! '     How  I  wished  I  knew  all  about  diplomacy  ! 


216  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

I  never  saw  a  more  august  appearance  than  Daddy 
'Henry,'  an  old  African,  who  remembers  the  slave  ship 
on  which  he  was  brought  over,  his  foreign  name,  and, 
perhaps,  many  things  which  he  never  tells  about.  He 
cleans  the  silver,  polishes  the  floors  and  windows  and 
the  brasses  in  the  fireplaces,  and,  besides  this,  claims  the 
boys'  guns  as  his  by  some  divine  right. 

"  In  order  to  hasten  an  expression  of  their  good-will,  I 
thought  one  day  of  making  a  Sterling  exchange  with  the 
aid  of  some  Washington  finery;  and,  with  a  black  silk 
dress  to  one  servant  and  a  morning-robe  to  another,  I 
have  pulled  through  famously,  even  with  Marm  Jane,  the 
cook,  who  is  supreme  in  her  kitchen.  I  have  heard 
her  turn  my  husband  out.  But  the  silk  dress  brought 
me  a  carte  blanche.  '  Come  on,  Missy,  jes  w'en  you  feels 
like  it ! '  is  the  way  she  greets  me  now. 

"  I  cannot  help  seeing  the  wise  arrangement  of  every 
part  of  this  extensive  plantation,  especially  for  the 
negroes.  The  house  of  the  overseer  is  in  the  midst  of  a 
grove  of  live  oaks,  and  in  each  street  are  a  certain  number 
of  cabins,  each  in  the  midst  of  a  little  garden  with  space 
in  which  to  raise  chickens.  The  hospital  is  well  arranged, 
and  there  is  a  separate  house  where  the  children,  espe- 
cially the  babies,  are  left  to  be  fed  and  cared  for  while 
their  mothers  are  at  work. 

"  My  poor  memory  for  faces  would  be  my  undoing 
but  for  Paul,  who  always  tells  me  as  we  come  upon  any 
of  the  negroes,  '  Now  this  is  Jethro  !  Be  sure  to  call 
him  distinctly.'  I  fall  in  with  this  righteous  deception 
-and  it  works  like  a  charm.  They  admire  what  they 
think  wit,  and  especially  love  to  memorise  some  easy 
little  rhyme.  Every  one  makes  the  same  atrocious 
wish  to  me: 

'God  blass  you,  ma  Missie.     I  wishes  you  joy 
An'  every  year  a  gal  or  a  boy.' 

"  I  thought  I  would  die  when  I  heard  it  first,  but  I've 


DEPARTED  GLORIES  OF  THE  SOUTH  LAND    217 

gotten  over  it  now.  Senator  Hammond  gives  a  barbecue 
to  the  slaves  every  Fourth  of  July  and  Christmas,  and 
the  dances  of  the  negroes  are  very  amusing.  There  is  a 
tall  black  man,  called  Robin,  on  this  plantation,  who  has 
originated  a  dance  which  he  calls  the  turkey-buzzard 
dance.  He  holds  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails,  which 
he  flirts  out  as  he  jumps,  first  to  one  side,  and  then  to 
the  other,  and  looks  exactly  like  the  ugly  bird  he  imi- 
tates." 

In  the  uncertain  days  of  the  war,  Huntsville  being  un- 
approachable, and  we  having  no  fixed  abode  in  the 
intervals  between  Congressional  sessions  at  Richmond, 
Senator  Clay  and  I  made  several  enjo}^able  visits  to  the 
sheltered  home  of  Mr.  Hammond,  even  while  battles 
raged  and  every  heart  was  burdened  with  apprehension. 
The  hospitality  of  the  owner  of  "Redclifle"  was  well 
known.  It  was  his  custom  in  those  uncertain  days, 
whether  guests  were  known  to  be  coming  or  not,  to  send 
his  carriage  daily  to  Augusta  to  meet  the  afternoon 
train,  and  the  unexpected  or  chance  arrival  who  might 
be  seeking  a  conference  or  a  refuge  at  "Redclifle";  and 
once  a  year,  like  a  great  feudal  landlord,  he  gave  a  fete 
or  grand  dinner  to  all  the  country  people  about,  at  which 
he  always  contrived  to  have  some  distinguished  guest 
present.  Senator  Clay  and  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
visiting  Mr.  Hammond  on  such  an  occasion,  when  every 
neighbour,  poor  or  rich,  for  miles  about  was  present. 
They  made  a  memorable  picture;  for  the  majority  were 
stiff  and  prim  and  of  the -quaint,  simple,  religious  class 
often  to  be  found  in  back  districts.  They  seemed  ill  at  ease, 
if  not  consciously  out  of  place,  in  Senator  Hammond's 
parlours,  filled  as  those  great  rooms  were  with  evidences 
of  a  cosmopolitan  culture,  with  paintings  and  statuary, 
bronze  and  marble  groups.* 

*  Many  of  these  possessions  are  still  retained  by  Messrs.  Spann  and 
Harry  Hammond, 


2i 8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

In  their  efforts  to  entertain  their  guests,  our  host  and 
hostess's  ingenuity  had  been  tested  to  its  utmost,  when 
suddenly  Senator  Hammond's  eye  twinkled,  and  he 
turned  to  Senator  Clay. 

"  I  remember  once  seeing  you  dance  at  our  home  in 
Washington,  Mr.  Clay,"  he  began,  and  then  proceeded 
to  recall  an  amusing  evening,  where,  strictly  en  famille, 
Senator  Butler,  of  South  Carolina,  together  with  Secre- 
tary and  Mrs.  Cobb,  Senator  Clay  and  myself,  had  dined, 
finishing  up  the  hours  together  by  singing  our  favourite 
ballads.  Upon  my  playing  a  merry  tune,  Secretary 
Cobb,  rotund  and  jolly,  suddenly  seized  my  husband, 
slender  and  sedate,  and  together  they  whirled  madly 
about  the  room  to  the  music  of  the  piano,  and  the  great 
amusement  of  dear  old  Senator  Butler,  who  laughed  until 
the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

When  Mr.  Hammond  at  "Redcliffe"  proposed  that  Mr. 
Clay  repeat  his  terpsichorean  success  for  the  pleasure  of 
the  Beach  Islanders  there  gathered,  my  husband  at  first 
(emulating  the  distinguished  artist  wherever  he  is  encoun- 
tered) demurred.  He  "could  not  dance  without  music," 
he  said. 

"Well,"  said  our  host,  "Mrs.  Clay  can  play !" 

"But  I  need  a  partner!"  my  husband  persisted.  At 
last,  however,  he  yielded  to  Senator  Hammond's  persua- 
sion and  danced  an  impromptu  Highland  fling,  abandon- 
ing himself  completely  to  the  fun  of  the  moment.  As  the 
music  went  on  and  his  spirit  of  frolic  rose,  the  faces  of 
some  of  the  spectators  around  us  grew  longer  and  longer, 
and,  I  am  sure,  those  good  people  felt  themselves  to  be  a 
little  nearer  to  the  burning  pit  than  they  had  ever  been 
before.  Their  prim  glances  at  my  husband's  capers 
increased  the  natural  sedateness  of  our  hostess,  who,  see- 
ing the  expressions  of  alarm,  plainly  was  relieved  when  at 
last  the  terrible  Bacchanalian  outburst  was  over !  I  felt 
sure  it  would  be  a  difficult  task  to  try  to  convince  my  hus- 


DEPARTED  GLORIES  OF  THE  SOUTH  LAND    219 

band's  audience  that  his  own  religious  feelings  and  con- 
victions were  of  the  deepest  and  most  spiritual  quality. 

For  his  black  dependents,  Senator  Hammond  had  built 
several  churches ;  the  favourite  one,  called  St.  Catherine's 
(named  for  Mrs.  Hammond),  being  nearest  the  " Red- 
cliff  e"  residence  and  most  frequently  visited  by  the  fam- 
ily. Once  a  month  a  white  preacher  came,  and  all  the 
slaves  gathered  to  listen  to  the  monthly  sermon.  Sena- 
tor Hammond's  views  for  the  civilising  of  the  negroes  led 
him  to  forbid  the  presence  of  exciting  negro  preachers,  for 
the  religion  of  the  black  man,  left  to  himself,  is  generally  a 
mixture  of  hysteria  and  superstition.  The  conversion 
of  the  negroes  under  their  own  spiritual  guides  was  a 
blood-curdling  process  in  those  days,  for  they  screamed  to 
Heaven  as  if  the  Indians  with  their  tomahawks  were  after 
them,  or  danced,  twisting  their  bodies  in  most  remark- 
able manner.*  As  their  emotion  increased,  as  they  "got 
feelin',"  and  the  moment  of  conversion  approached,  as  a 
rule  they  fell  all  in  a  heap,  though  in  thus  "coming 
through  "  the  wenches  were  altogether  likely  to  fall  into 
the  arms  of  the  best-looking  young  brother  who  happened 
to  be  near.  By  reason  of  Senator  Hammond's  wise  disci- 
pline, such  religious  excesses  were  impossible  at  "  Red- 
cliffe,"  and  I  can  recall  no  church  service  at  once  more 
thrilling  and  reverential  than  that  I  attended,  with  Sena- 
tor Clay,  at  quaint  St.  Catherine's  on  the  "Redcliffe" 
plantation  shortly  before  my  husband's  departure  for 
Canada. 

The  negroes,  clean,  thrifty,  strong,  all  dressed  in  their 
best,  vied  with  each  other  in  their  deference  to  Mars' 

*  To  overcome  these  conditions,  the  Right-Reverend  William  Capers, 
distinguished  in  the  Methodist  Church,  organised  a  wide  system  of 
missionary  work  among  the  plantation  negroes,  whereby  preaching  and 
catechising  by  white  ministers  took  place  once  a  month.  Many  of  the 
great  planters  assisted  in  this  good  work,  Senator  R.  Barnwell  Rhett.Sr., 
being  prominently  associated  with  Bishop  Capers.  Senator  Rhetti 
built  a  large  church,  which  was  attended  by  the  negroes  from  five 
plantations,  and  regularly  by  his  own  family.     A.  S. 


220  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Paul's  guests,  as  we  entered  the  church.  They  listened 
quietly  to  the  sermon  as  the  service  proceeded. 

It  was  a  solemn  and  impressive  scene.  There  was  the 
little  company  of  white  people,  the  flower  of  centuries  of 
civilisation,  among  hundreds  of  blacks,  but  yesterday  in 
the  age  of  the  world,  wandering  in  savagery,  now 
peaceful,  contented,  respectful  and  comprehending  the 
worship  of  God.  Within  a  day's  ride,  cannon  roared, 
and  a  hunter,  laying  his  ear  to  the  ground,  might  have 
heard  the  tread  of  armies,  bent  upon  the  blotting  out  of 
just  such  scenes  as  these.  Only  God  might  record  our 
thoughts  that  morning,  as  the  preacher  alluded  in  prayer 
and  sermon  to  the  issues  of  the  times.  At  the  close  of  the 
morning,  the  hymn  "There  is  rest  for  the  weary"  was 
given  out,  and  when  the  slaves  about  us  had  wailed  out 
the  lines 

"On  the  other  side  of  Jordan 

Where  the  tree  of  life  is  blooming 
There  is  rest  for  you  !" 

my  husband,  at  the  signal  for  prayer,  fell  upon  his  knees, 
relieving  his  pent-up  feelings  in  tears  which  he  could  not 
restrain.  My  own  commingling  emotions  were  indescrib- 
ably strange  and  sad.  Would  abolitionists,  I  thought, 
could  they  look  upon  that  scene,  fail  to  admit  the  bless- 
ings American  "  slavery  "  had  brought  to  the  savage  black 
men,  thus,  within  a  few  generations  at  most,  become  at 
home  in  a  condition  of  civilisation. 

There  were  many  fine  voices  on  the  plantation  at  "  Red- 
cliffe,"  and  as  they  followed  their  leader  down  the  row 
"chopping  out"  cotton,  or,  when  later  they  worked  in 
gangs  at  picking  it,  it  was  their  custom,  seeming  to  act 
from  instinct  in  the  matter,  to  sing.  One  voice  usually 
began  the  song,  then  another  would  join  him,  and  then 
another,  until  dozens  of  voices  blended  in  weird  and 
melodious  harmonies  that  floated  from  the  distant  cotton 


DEPARTED  GLORIES  OF  THE  SOUTH  LAND    221 

fields  to  the  house  of  the  master,  and  the  music  of  the 
unseen  choristers,  a  natural  and  rhythmic  song,  was  of  a 
kind  we  shall  not  hear  again  in  these  later  practical  times. 
Sometimes,  one  by  one,  all  would  drop  out  of  the  song, 
until  only  the  leader's  high  voice  was  heard ;  then,  gradu- 
ally, they  would  join  in  again,  and  often,  when  all 
seemed  finished,  a  challenge  would  come  from  some  dis- 
tant gang,  and  a  fuller  and  freer  anti  phonal  song  would 
be  heard,  answering  from  field  to  field. 

When  I  remember  that  throng  of  well-fed,  plump  and 
happy  coloured  people,  and  compare  it  with  the  ragged 
and  destitute  communities  common  among  the  freedmen 
of  to-day,  the  contrast  is  a  sad  one.  "  What's  de  reason  ?" 
asked  an  old  darky  of  me  during  Reconstruction  days, 
"dat  de  Yankees  caint  make  linsey-wolsey  like  ole  Mistis 
did  in  de  ole  time  ?  'N  dose  days  one  par  breeches  las  me 
mos  a  year !  I  could  cut  trees,  roll  logs,  burn  bresh- 
heaps  an'  cut  briers  an'  I  couldn't  wear  dem  breeches  out ! 
Now  when  I  buys  dis  shoddy  stuff  de  Yankees  done  bro't 
an'  sets  down  on  de  lawg  ter  eat  ma  grub,  bress  Gawd ! 
when  I  gits  up,  I  leaves  de  seat  o'  my  breeches  on  de  lawg  ! 
I  done  got  down  on  my  knees  an'  prayed  for  God  ter  send 
me  linsey-wolsey  clothes  so  I  won't  have  rheumatiz  an' 
aint  none  come.  Where's  dat  mule  an'  forty  acres? 
When  is  dey  a  comin',  dat's  what  I  wants  ter  know  !" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Conditions   in  i863-'64 

By  the  autumn  of  1864  the  Southern  States  found  them- 
selves ravaged  of  everything  either  edible  or  wearable. 
Food  was  enormously  high  in  cities  and  in  locations 
which  proved  tempting  to  foragers.  Delicately  bred 
women  were  grateful  when  they  were  able  to  secure  a  pair 
of  rough  brogan  shoes  at  one  hundred  dollars  a  pair,  and 
coarse  cotton  cloth  from  the  Macon  Mills  served  to  make 
our  gowns.  For  nearly  three  years  the  blockade  of  our 
ports  and  frontier  had  made  the  purchase  of  anything 
really  needful,  impracticable.  Nor  could  we  utilise  the 
stores  in  Southern  cities  once  these  had  fallen  into  the 
enemies'  clutches.  A  correspondent,  Mrs.  Captain  du 
Barry,*  who  in  December,  1863,  was  permitted  to  visit 
Memphis,  now  in  the  enemy's  possession,  wrote,  "  I  deeply 
regretted  not  being  able  to  fill  your  commissions.  I  put 
them  on  my  list  that  I  sent  in  to  General  Hurlburt,  when 
I  requested  a  passport,  but  they  were  refused.  All  the 
principal  stores  were  closed  and  their  contents  confis- 
cated. There  is  a  perfect  reign  of  terror  in  Memphis. 
Not  even  a  spool  of  cotton  can  be  purchased  without  regis- 
tering your  name  and  address,  and  "  swearing  it  is  for  per- 
sonal or  family  use,  and  no  number  of  articles  can  be 
taken  from  the  store  without,  after  selection,  going  with  a 
list  of  them  in  your  hand,  to  the  "  Board  of  Trade,"  accom- 
panied by  the  clerk  of  the  store,  and  there  swearing  on  the 
Bible  that  the  articles  mentioned  are  for  family  use  and 
not  to  be  taken  out  of  the  United  States.     So  many  neces- 

*  Mother  of  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Maybrick. 

222 


CONDITIONS  IN   i863-'64  223 

sary  articles  are  pronounced  contraband  by  the  United 
States  authorities,  that  one  is  in  momentary  chance  of 
being  arrested,  by  ignorantly  inquiring  for  them.  The 
place  is  swarming  with  detectives  who  make  a  trade  of 
arresting  unfortunate  people.  They  are  paid  by  the 
United  States  Government  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
for  detecting  and  arresting  a  person,  and  that  person  pays 
the  Provost  Marshal  fifteen  hundred  to  two  thousand 
dollars  to  get  off,  that  being  the  way  matters  are  con- 
ducted in  Memphis !" 

All  over  the  South  old  spinning  wheels  and  handlooms 
were  brought  out  from  dusty  corners,  and  the  whirr  of 
the  wheel  became  a  very  real  song  to  us.  Every  scrap  of 
old  leather  from  furniture,  trunk,  belt  or  saddle  was  saved 
for  the  manufacture  of  rough  shoes,  often  made  by  the 
mother  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  have  hoarded 
them,  for  herself  and  children.  I,  myself,  saw  my  aunt, 
Eloisa,  wife  of  General  Jones  M.  Withers,  putting  soles  on 
the  tops  of  once  cast-off  shoes  of  her  children's,  and  she, 
who  had  known  so  well  the  luxuries  of  life,  was  compelled 
to  perform  her  task  by  the  meagre  light  of  a  precious  tal- 
low candle.  Complaints,  however,  were  few,  from  our 
Spartan-spirited  women.  Writing  to  my  husband,  in 
November,  1864,  I  said,  "A  lady  told  me' yesterday  that 
she  fattened  daily  on  Confederate  fare — for,  since  she 
could  obtain  no  useless  luxuries,  her  health,  heretofore 
poor,  has  become  perfect." 

The  country  was  stripped  not  alone  of  the  simpler  refine- 
ments of  life,  but  of  even  so  necessary  a  commodity  as  salt. 
Scarcely  a  smoke-house  in  the  South  having  an  earthen 
floor,  which  had  received  the  drippings  from  the  hams  or 
bacon  sides  of  earlier  days,  but  underwent  a  scraping  and 
sifting  in  an  effort  to  secure  the  precious  grains  deposited 
there.  It  happened  that  my  host  at  "Redcliffe,"  just 
previous  to  the  breaking  out  of  hostilities,  had  ordered  a 
boat-load  of  salt,  to  use  upon  certain  unsatisfactory  land, 


224  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

and  realising  that  a  blockaded  coast  would  result  in  a  salt 
famine,  he  hoarded  his  supply  until  the  time  of  need  should 
come.  When  it  became  known  that  Senator  Hammond's 
salt  supply  was  available,  every  one  from  far  and  near 
came  asking  for  it.  It  was  like  going  down  into  Egypt 
for  corn,  and  the  precious  crystals  were  distributed  to  all 
who  came,  according  to  the  number  in  each  family. 

Compared  with  those  of  many  of  my  friends  in  other 
parts  of  the  South,  our  surroundings  and  fare  at  Beech 
Island  were  sumptuous.  Save  at  my  Uncle  Williams's 
home,  I  had  nowhere  seen  such  an  abundance  of  good 
things  as  "Redcliffe"  yielded.  Meats  and  vegetables 
were  plenty ;  the  river  nearby  was  full  of  shad  which  were 
caught  readily  in  seines;  and  canvas-backs  and  teal, 
English  ducks  and  game  birds,  especially  partridges, 
abounded.  "Indian  summer  is  here  in  all  its  glory,"  I 
wrote  to  my  husband  late  in  '64.  "  The  hues  of  the  forests 
are  gorgeous,  the  roses  wonderful !  Millions  of  violets 
scent  the  air,  and  everything  is  so  peaceful  and  lovely  on 
this  island  it  is  hard  to  realise  War  is  in  the  land.  Splen- 
did crops  prevail,  and  the  spirit  of  the  people  is  un- 
daunted !" 

As  times  grew  more  and  more  stringent,  tea  and  coffee 
proved  to  be  our  greatest  lack,  and  here,  as  we  had 
done  in  the  last  days  at  Warrenton,  we  were  glad  to  drink 
potato  coffee  and  peanut  chocolate.  The  skin  of  the 
raw  potato  was  scraped  off — to  pare  it  might  have  been 
to  waste  it — and  the  potato  cut  into  slices  or  discs  as  thin 
as  paper.  It  was  then  carefully  dried,  toasted  and 
ground,  and  made  into  what  proved  to  be  a  really  delicious 
beverage.*  Our  chocolate  was  made  in  this  wise :  Pea- 
nuts, or  pinders,  or  goobers,  as  they  were  variously  called, 
were  roasted  and  the  skin  slipped  off.     They  were  next 

*  A  recent  writer  attributes  to  those  experiences,  the  coffee  substi- 
tutes which  now,  forty  years  later,  have  "ruined  the  American 
coffee  trade."     A.  S. 


CONDITIONS  IN  i863-'64  225 

pounded  in  a  mortar;  when,  blended  with  boiled  milk 
and  a  little  sugar  (a  sparing  use  of  this  most  costly  luxury 
was  also  necessary) ,  the  drink  was  ready  for  serving,  and 
we  found  it  delightful  to  our  palates. 

There  were  spinners  and  weavers  on  Beech  Island,  too, 
and  unceasing  industry  was  necessary  to  prepare  and 
weave  cloth,  both  cotton  and  wool,  sufficient  for  the 
clothing  of  the  army  of  slaves  and  the  family  on  the  great 
plantation.  One  of  the  island  residents,  Mrs.  Redd,  was 
a  wonderful  worker,  and  wove  me  a  cotton  gown  of  many 
colours  which  had  all  the  beauty  of  a  fine  Scotch  plaid. 
She  spun  her  own  cotton  and  made  her  own  dyes,  gather- 
ing her  colours  from  the  mysterious  laboratories  of  the 
woods,  and  great  was  the  fame  her  handiwork  attained 
wherever  it  was  seen.  Calico  of  the  commonest  in  those 
days  was  sold  at  twenty -five  dollars  a  yard;  and  we 
women  of  the  Confederacy  cultivated  such  an  outward 
indifference  to  Paris  fashions  as  would  have  astonished 
our  former  competitors  in  the  Federal  capital.  Nor  did 
our  appearance,  I  am  constrained  to  think,  suffer  appreci- 
ably more  than  our  spirits ;  for  the  glories  of  an  unbleached 
Macon  Mills  muslin  gown,  trimmed  with  gourd-seed  but- 
tons, dyed  crimson,  in  which  I  appeared  at  Richmond  in 
the  spring  of  '64,  so  impressed  the  mind  of  an  English 
newspaper  correspondent  there,  that  he  straightway 
wrote  and  forwarded  an  account  of  it  to  London,  whence 
our  friends  who  had  taken  refuge  there  sent  it  back  to  us, 
cut  from  a  morning  journal. 

Not  that  our  love  for  pretty  things  was  dead;  a  let- 
ter preserved  by  Mr.  Clay  is  fine  testimony  to  the  fact 
that  mine  was  "scotched,  and  not  killed."  It  was  dated 
Beech  Island,  November  18,  1864,  and  was  addressed  to 
Mr.  Clay,  now  on  the  eve  of  departure  from  Canada. 

"  Bring  me  at  least  two  silk  dresses  of  black  and  purple. 
I  prefer  the  purple  to  be  moire  antique,  if  it  is  fashionable. 
If  French  importations  are  to  be  had,  bring  me  a  spring 


226  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

bonnet  and  a  walking  hat,  for  the  benefit  of  all  my  lady 
friends  as  well  as  myself,  and  do  bring  some  books  of 
fashions — September,  October,  and  November  numbers 

(Ruling  passion  strong  in  war),  and  bring ."     The  list 

grew  unconscionably.  In  after  years  I  found  a  copy  of  it 
carefully  made  out  in  my  husband's  handwriting,  and 
showing  marks  of  having  been  carried  in  his  pocket 
until  each  article  I  had  indicated  for  myself  or  others 
had  been  selected,     Here  it  is : 

i.  At  least,  2  silk  dresses,  black  and  purple  (for'Ginie). 

2.  French  spring  bonnet. 

3.  Walking  hat. 

4.  Some  books  of  fashion. 

5.  Corsets — 4 — 6,  22  inches  in  waist. 

6.  Slippers  with  heels,  No.  3  1-2. 

7.  Gloves — 1  doz.  light  coloured,  1  doz.  dark. 

8.  Handkerchiefs,  extra  fine. 

9.  Two  handsome  black  silk  dresses  for  Lestia. 

10.  Flannel,  white  and  red. 

11.  A  set  of  fine,  dark  furs,  not  exceeding  $25. 

12.  Set  of  Hudson  Bay  Sables,  at  any  price,  for  Victoria, 

large  cape,  cuffs  and  muff. 

13.  Two    Black    Hernanis   or   Tissue   dresses,    one   tissue 

dress  to  be  brochetted  for  'Ginie. 

14.  3  or  4  pieces  of  black  velvet  ribbon,  different  widths. 

15.  Bolt  of  white  bonnet  ribbon;  ditto  pink,  green  and 

magenta. 

16.  French  flowers  for  bonnet. 

17.  Shell  Tuck  comb  for  'Ginie. 

18.  Present  for  little  Jeff  Davis,  Claude  and  J.  Winter. 

19.  Needles,  pins,  hairpins,  tooth-brushes,  coarse  combs, 

cosmetics,  hair  oil,  cologne. 

20.  Domestic,    linen,    muslin,    nainsook,    swiss,  jaconet, 

mull  muslin,  each  a  full  piece. 

21.  Dresses  of  brilliantine. 

22.  Black  silk  spring  wrapping. 

23.  Chlorine  tooth  wash  and  Rowland's  Kalydor. 

24.  A  cut  coral  necklace. 

25.  Lace  collars,  large  and  pointed  now  worn. 

Alas !  my  husband's  zeal  in  fulfilling  my  commissions 


CONDITIONS  IN  1863-' 64.  227 

all  went  for  naught,  for  the  boxes  containing  them  (save 
two,  which  were  deposited  with  Mrs.  Chestnut,  at  Colum- 
bia, and  later  fell  prey  to  the  Federals  or  to  the  flames,  we 
never  knew  which)  were  swallowed  by  the  sea,  and  only 
he  himself  came  home  with  the  Government  papers  he  had 
guarded,  as  the  sole  baggage  he  was  able  to  save  from  the 
wreck  of  the  Rattlesnake  of  all  he  had  carried.  And  yet 
not  all,  for  a  long-lost  pet  which  he  had  been  enabled  to 
reclaim  for  General  Lee  *  was  also  brought  safely  to  shore. 

"Tell  him,"  wrote  my  sister,  from  Richmond,  that 
"General  Lee's  dog  arrived  safely.  Poor  dog!  I'm 
sorry  for  him,  for  he  will  find  the  Confederacy  a  poor  place 
to  come  to  to  get  anything  to  eat !  I  trust  for  the  coun- 
try's sake,  he  knows  how  to  live  without  eating !" 

For  the  making  of  our  toilette  we  discovered  the  value 
of  certain  gourds,  when  used  as  wash  cloths.  Their  wear- 
ing qualities  were  wonderful ;  the  more  one  used  them  the 
softer  they  became.  Needles  were  becoming  precious  as 
heirlooms;  pins  were  the  rarest  of  luxuries;  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  locust  thorns  served  us  instead. 
Writing  paper  was  scarcely  to  be  had,  and  the  letters  of 
that  period  which  were  sent  out  by  private  persons  were 
often  unique  testimony  to  the  ingenuity  of  the  senders. 
Wall-paper,  perhaps,  was  most  frequently  resorted  to,  and 
we  made  our  crude  envelopes  of  anything  we  could  find. 
We  made  our  own  writing  fluids,  our  commonest  resource 
being  the  oak  ball,  a  parasite,  which,  next  to  the  walnut 
burr,  is  the  blackest  thing  in  the  vegetable  world.  Or, 
this  failing  us,  soot  was  scooped  from  the  chimney,  and, 
after  a  careful  sifting,  was  mixed  with  water  and  "  fixed  " 
with  a  few  drops  of  vinegar.     Sometimes  we  used  poke- 

*  Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Canada,  Mr.  Clay  heard  of  General  Lee's 
lost  favourite.  The  animal,  a  fine  Newfoundland,  had  been  taken  from 
the  Lee  home  at  Arlington  by  a  Federal  soldier,  who  sold  it  to  a  Captain 
Anderson  (commanding  an  English  vessel)  for  one  hundred  dollars. 
After  some  months  of  inquiry  and  negotiation,  Mr.  Clay  secured  the 
dog,  and  personally  brought  him  back  to  the  Confederate  States.   A.  S. 


228  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

berries,  manufacturing  a  kind  of  red  ink,  or,  made  thin 
with  water,  some  bit  of  miraculously  saved  shoe  polish 
provided  us  with  an  adhesive  black  fluid. 

Our  difficulties  were  as  great  in  the  matter  of  transmit- 
ting our  letters,  when  once  they  were  written.  We  might 
intrust  them  to  the  mails,  but  these  particularly  were  prey 
to  our  invaders ;  or  we  might  charge  with  the  care  of  them 
some  traveller  who  was  known  to  be  making  his  way  to 
the  city  for  which  the  letters  were  addressed.  Stray  news- 
papers reached  us  at  "Redclifle"  occasionally,  from  even 
so  distant  a  point  as  our  capital,  and  efforts  were  made 
by  local  editors  to  purvey  the  news  of  battles  and  the 
movements  of  the  armies,  but  the  supply  of  paper  neces- 
sary for  the  issuing  of  a  daily  journal  and  even  a  weekly 
edition  was  difficult  to  obtain.  What  at  first  had  appeared 
as  morning  papers  were  changed  to  evening  editions,  as  the 
cost  of  candles,  by  which  the  compositors  must  work,  had 
risen  in  '63  to  three  and  one-half  dollars  a  pound.  Our 
brother,  J.  Withers  Clay,  who  owned  and  edited  the  Con- 
federate, turned  peripatetic,  and  issued  his  paper  where 
he  could,  being  obliged  to  keep  shifting,  printing  para- 
phernalia and  all,  with  the  movements  of  the  army  in 
the  Tennessee  region.  Writing  us  from  Chattanooga,  on 
August  16,  1863,  he  thus  described  his  life:  "I  am  living 
in  camp  style.  I  mess  with  my  office  boys  and  our  fare 
is  frugal.  My  bed  is  a  piece  of  carpet,  laid  on  a  door,  with 
one  end  elevated  on  two  bricks  and  the  other  resting  on 
the  floor.  I  lay  my  blue  blanket  on  this,  and  my  bones 
on  that,  with  my  head  supported  by  my  overcoat  and 
carpet  sack,  and  cover  myself  with  a  Mexican  scarf  when 
it  is  cool !  " 

On  the  whole,  our  condition  was  almost  like  that  of  the 
ancients  who  depended  on  passing  travellers  for  gossip  or 
news  of  the  welfare  or  whereabouts  of  friends  or  kin. 
Thus  my  sister  (by  every  tie  of  affection),  writing  from 
Richmond  in  the  spring  of  '64,  said:     "Have  no  idea 


CONDITIONS  IN  i863-'64  229 

where  you  are,  but  send  this  letter  by  General  Sparrow  to 
Macon,  care  of  Mrs.  Whittle.  The  last  intelligence  I  had 
of  you  was  through  Colonel  Phillips.  He  told  me  he  saw 
you  between  Augusta  and  Macon  somewhere." 

Nor  dared  we  avail  ourselves  of  our  telegraph  wires,  so 
costly  had  the  sending  of  a  few  lines  become.  For  the 
briefest  message  sent  C.  O.  D.  from  Macon  to  Richmond, 
my  sister  paid  sixteen  dollars  and  implored  me  to  send 
no  more  !  The  chief  resource  of  the  people  was  the  arrival 
of  the  local  train,  at  which  time  the  railway  stations 
swarmed  with  inquirers  on  foot,  hedged  in  by  others  as 
eager,  who  had  driven  long  distances  in  such  vehicles  as 
were  at  their  command. 

My  life  was  one  of  continual  suspense,  notwithstanding 
the  arrival  of  special  couriers  who  came  from  time  to  time 
from  Richmond  bearing  tidings  of  my  absent  husband. 
All  lives  that  lie  in  close  parallels  to  governments  carry 
heavy  anxieties.  Mine,  in  those  days  of  strife  and  ter- 
ror, was  no  exception  to  this  general  rule.  As  negotiator 
at  Niagara  Falls  with  Professor  Holcombe  and  others,  the 
eyes  of  the  North  as  well  as  those  of  the  South  for  months 
had  been  fixed  upon  Mr.  Clay,  his  interviews  with  Horace 
Greeley  and  the  messengers  sent  to  him  by  Mr.  Lincoln 
having  excited  varying  comments  and  criticisms  that 
were  anything  but  reassuring.  Our  friends  in  Richmond, 
however,   wrote  cheeringly: 

.  .  .  I  hear  occasionally  of  Mr.  Clay,"  ran  a  letter  from 
the  Executive  Mansion,  dated  August  31st,  '64,  "but  for  some 
time  past  nothing  has  been  received  from  him.  The  company 
he  keeps  *  as  reported  by  the  newspapers  cannot  render  you 
apprehensive  of  his  being  too  happy  to  wish  to  return,  though 
your  desire  to  be  with  him  may  have  increased  his  probable  want 
of  more  congenial  communion  when  the  day's  work  is  done.  I 
am  assured  that  his  health  has  improved  by  Canadian  air,  and 
we  may  hope  that  he  will  bring  back  increased  ability  to  labour 
in  the  cause  of  the  Confederacy,  if  it  should  not  be  his  portion 
*  Horace  Greeley. 


230  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  relieve  us  of  the  need  for  further  toil  such  as  now  is  im- 
posed. The  carping  spirit  which  prompted  the  criticism  *  on 
his  course  would  have  found  sufficient  cause  whatever  he 
might  have  done;  or,  if  nothing  had  been  done,  that  would 
have  served  equally.  No  one  can  hope  to  please  everybody. 
You  would  not  wish  your  husband  to  escape  the  reviling  of 
those  who  envy  such  as  they  cannot  rival,  and  strive  to  drag 
others  down  from  the  heights  to  which  they  cannot  rise?" 

Messages  were  numerous,  urging  my  return  to  Rich- 
mond, which  our  President  and  the  Mallorys  assured  me 
was  the  safest  of  places. 

"Now  that  Sherman's  barbarians  are  in  unpleasant 
proximity  to  you,"  wrote  Secretary  Mallory,  "why  not 
come  to  the  front  where  security,  sympathy,  mint  juleps, 
an  admiring  audience,  the  freshest  gossip  and  the  most 
unselfish  regard,  all  combine  with  the  boom  and  flash  of 
guns  to  welcome  your  coming?  The  correspondence 
between  your  lord  and  master  and  Holcombe  on  one  side, 
and  Greeley  on  the  other,  is  doing  good  service.  The 
parties,  fragments,  cliques  and  individuals  in  the  United 
States  who  desire  peace,  but  differ  upon  the  modus 
operandi  of  getting  it,  will  now  learn  that  with  Lincoln  at 
the  head  of  affairs,  no  peace  is  possible ;  while  our  weak 
brothers  in  North  Carolina  and  Georgia  who  have  clam- 
oured so  loudly  that  peace  propositions  should  be  made  to 
us,  cannot  fail  to  see  that,  at  present,  peace  with  Lincoln 
means  degradation.  I  am  very  glad  Mr.  Clay  went,  for  I 
see  that  his  presence  must  be  beneficial  to  our  cause." 

These,  and  other  letters  as  urgent  and  as  desirous  of 
quieting  my  apprehensions,  came  frequently.  Neverthe- 
less, my  husband's  stay  in  the  severe  climate  of  Canada 
caused  me  constant  apprehension.  For  months  my  only 
direct  news  of  him  was  through  "  personals,"  variously  dis- 
guised, in  the  Richmond  papers,  which  Colonel  Clay  was 
prompt  to  forward  to  me.     Occasionally,  however,  one  of 

*  Printed  in  Richmond  Enquirer,  and  quoted  liberally  throughout  the 
North. 


CONDITIONS  IN  i863-'64  231 

the  numerous  letters  each  endeavoured  to  send  to  the 
other  successfully  reached  its  destination.  "  It  gives  me 
great  pain,"  I  wrote  on  November  18,  '64,  "to  learn  from 
yours  just  received  that  none  of  my  numerous  letters 
have  reached  you  since  the  30th  June  !  I  have  sent  you 
dozens,  my  dearest,  filled  with  all  the  news  of  the  day,  of 
every  character,  and  more  love  than  ever  filled  my  heart 
before  !  .  .  .  My  last  intelligence  of  you  was  sent  me 
from  Richmond  through  the  bearer  of  despatches,  I  pre- 
sume, and  bore  the  date  of  September  fifteenth,  more  than 
two  months  ago  !  " 

In  this  letter,  which  was  dated  from  Beech  Island,  I 
conveyed  intelligence  to  Mr.  Clay  of  Senator  Hammond's 
death,  he  being,  at  the  time,  a  few  days  less  than  fifty- 
seven  years  of  age.  It  occurred  while  all  the  affluent 
colourings  of  the  autumn  were  tingeing  his  world  at  "  Red- 
cliffe."  The  circumstances  attending  his  decease  and 
burial  were  unique,  and  to  be  likened  only  to  those  which, 
in  mediaeval  days,  surrounded  the  passing  away  of  some 
Gothic  baron  or  feudal  lord.  Mr.  Hammond  had  been 
failing  in  health  for  some  time,  when,  feeling  his  end 
drawing  near,  he  asked  for  a  carriage  that  he  might  drive 
out  and  select  his  last  resting-place.  He  chose,  at  last, 
a  high  knoll,  from  which  a  fine  view  was  to  be  had  of 
Augusta  and  the  Sand  Hills ;  and,  having  done  this,  be- 
ing opposed  to  private  burial  grounds,  he  bequeathed  the 
surrounding  acres  to  the  town  in  the  precincts  of  which 
his  estate  lay,  on  consideration  that  they  turn  the  plot 
into  a  public  cemetery.  First,  however,  he  laid  an  in- 
junction upon  his  wife  and  sons,  that  if  the  Yankee  army 
penetrated  there  (the  end  of  the  war  was  not  yet,  nor  came 
for  six  months  thereafter),  they  should  have  his  grave 
ploughed  over  that  none  of  the  hated  enemy  should  see  it. 

Again  and  again  in  the  remaining  days  he  reiterated 
his  wish.  Fears  were  spreading  of  the  approach  of  Sher- 
man's devastating  army,  and  the  destruction  of  "Red- 


23  2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

cliffe,"  conspicuous  as  it  was  to  all  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, seemed  inevitable.  Marvellous  to  relate,  however, 
when  at  last  the  spoiler  came,  his  legions  marched  in  a 
straight  line  to  the  sea,  some  fourteen  miles  away  from  the 
Hammond  plantation,  leaving  it  untouched  by  shell  or 
the  irreverent  hand  of  the  invader. 

The  funeral  of  Mr.  Hammond  was  solemn  and  made 
especially  impressive  by  the  procession  of  two  hundred  of 
the  older  slaves,  who  marched,  two  by  two,  into  the 
baronial  parlors,  to  look  for  the  last  time  upon  their  mas- 
ter's face.  Save  for  this  retinue,  "Redcliffe"  was  now 
practically  without  a  defender,  Mr.  Paul  Hammond  being 
absent  much  of  the  time,  detailed  upon  home  guard  duty. 
In  his  absence,  my  maid,  Emily,  and  I  kept  the  armory 
of  the  household,  now  grown  more  and  more  fearful  of 
invasion  with  its  train  of  insult  and  the  destruction  of 
property.  There  were  many  nights  when,  all  the  rest  in 
slumber  and  a  dead  hush  without,  I  waited,  breathless, 
until  I  caught  the  sound  of  Paul  Hammond's  returning 
steps. 

Just  before  the  close  of  my  refugee  days  on  Beach 
Island,  a  young  kinsman,  George  Tunstall,  who  filled  the 
sublime  post  of  corporal  in  Wheeler's  Brigade  in  camp  a 
few  hundred  miles  away,  learning  of  my  presence  there, 
obtained  leave  of  absence  and  made  his  way,  accompanied 
by  another  youth,  to  Mrs.  Hammond's  to  see  me.  The 
two  soldiers  were  full  of  tales  of  thrilling  interest,  of  hair- 
breadth escapes  and  camp  happenings,  both  grave  and 
gay ;  and,  rumours  of  Sherman's  advance  being  rife,  our 
young  heroes  urged  my  cousin  to  take  time  by  the  fore- 
lock and  bury  the  family  silver.  "Redcliffe"  being 
almost  in  direct  line  of  the  Yankee  general's  march,  the 
advice  seemed  good,  and  preparations  at  once  began  to 
put  it  into  operation.  Though  there  was  little  doubt  of 
the  loyalty  of  the  majority  of  the  Hammond  slaves,  yet 
it  seemed  but  prudent  to  surround  our  operations  with 


GENERAL  JOSEPH  WHEELER 

of  Alabama 
From  a  war-time  photograph 


CONDITIONS  IN   i863-'64  2^ 

all  possible  secrecy.  We  therefore  collected  the  silver, 
piece  by  piece,  secreting  it  in  "crocus"  bags,  which,  when 
all  was  ready,  we  deposited  in  a  capacious  carry-all,  into 
which  we  crowded.  It  was  at  early  dusk  when  lurking 
figures  easily  might  be  descried  in  corn-field  or  behind  a 
wayside  tree  by  our  alert  eyes.  Declaring  to  those  of  the 
servants  who  stood  about  as  we  entered  the  carriage,  that 
we  were  taking  some  provisions  to  Mrs.  Redd,  much  to 
Lot's*  surprise,  we  dispensed  with  a  coachman,  and  drove 
off.  We  had  many  a  laugh  as  we  proceeded  through  the 
woods,  at  our  absurdity  in  concealing  our  errand  from 
the  family  servants  and  in  confiding  our  precious  secret 
to  two  of  Wheeler's  men.  They  had  a  terrible  reputation 
for  chicken  stealing.  \ 

When  we  had  driven  a  mile  or  more,  Mr.  Tunstall  pro- 
duced a  hatchet  and  began  to  blaze  the  trees.  "  There  !" 
he  said,  after  instructing  us  as  to  the  signs  he  had  made, 
"  when  you  come  to  where  the  blaze  stops,  you'll  find  your 
valuables  !"  and  under  his  directions  the  silver  was  silently 
sunk  in  the  ground  and  the  earth  replaced.  J 

Apropos  of  General  Sherman,  when  a  month  or  two 
later  I  was  in  Macon,  I  heard  a  very  excellent  story.  A 
party  of  his  men  one  day  dashed  up  to  the  house  of  a  Mrs. 
Whitehead,  a  fine  old  lady  (a  sister  of  my  informant),  and 
demanded  dinner  at  once.  The  lady  long  since  had 
learned  that  resistance  to  such  imperative  demands  would 
be  in  vain,  and  preparations  were  at  once  begun  for  the 
meal.     Notwithstanding  her  obliging  and  prompt  com- 

*  The  family  coachman.  t 

f  A  gentleman  in  the  War  Department — to  whom  I  spoke  of  a  violent 
protest  uttered  against  General  Wheeler's  confiscations,  by  one  Betts 
(who  sent  his  complaint,  long  as  a  Presidential  message,  to  Senator 
Clay,  in  Richmond) — smiled  a  little.  "Well,"  he  said,  "Wheeler  always 
would  feed  his  men,  you  know !"     A.  S. 

X  Speaking  of  that  episode,  Mrs.  Hammond  said  to  me:  "It  was 
months  before  we  succeeded  in  finding  the  silver  again.  Though  we 
dug  the  ground  over  and  over  in  every  direction  where  we  thought  it 
was,  we  couldn't  even  find  the  blazes  for  a  long  time."     A.  S. 


234  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

pliance,  the  men  immediately  started  a  forage  in  the 
poultry  yard  and  the  outhouses  beyond.  One  of  the 
officers  penetrated  the  servants'  quarters,  and  entered  a 
cabin  in  which  a  young  black  woman  lay  sick. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Sis  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  that  was 
meant  to  convey  sympathy. 

"Ain't  no  Sis  of  yourn !"  was  the  sullen  reply.  "God 
knows  I  ain't  no  kin  to  no  Yankee !"  At  that  moment 
an  infant's  cry  was  heard. 

"Hello!"  said  the  officer.  "Got  a  little  pickaninny, 
hey?     Boy  or  girl?" 

"Boy  chile!  What's  that  ter  you?"  snapped  the 
woman. 

"What's  his  name?"  persisted  the  soldier. 

"Name's  Wheeler,  dat's  what  'tis!"  answered  the 
invalid  triumphantly,  and  the  colloquy  ended  abruptly. 

As  the  soldiers  sat  down  to  the  table,  some  one,  going  to 
the  door,  saw  Wheeler's  men  come  tearing  down  the  road 
flat  on  their  horses.  Instantly  he  shouted  back  to  his 
companions,  "Wheeler!"  but  they,  believing  the  cry  to 
be  a  ruse,  continued  to  eat.  The  sounds  of  the  galloping 
steeds  soon  became  audible,  however,  and  a  stampede  that 
was  highly  amusing  to  the  now  relieved  household  took 
place  through  doors  and  windows.  When  General 
Wheeler  arrived,  he  found  a  steaming  repast  already 
prepared,  and  a  cordial  welcome  from  Mrs.  Whitehead 
and  her  family,  including  "Sis." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Death  of  Abraham  Lincoln 

The  South  was  now  sadly  crippled.  Our  bulwarks 
were  demolished  and  our  granaries  emptied,  our  most 
fertile  valleys  occupied  by  the  Northern  army,  and  Con- 
federate money  was  depreciated  to  such  an  extent  as 
to  make  it  practically  useless.*  Our  army  was  thin- 
ning daily,  and  even  the  news  from  Richmond,  save 
from  Mr.  Davis  himself,  seemed  to  carry  an  undertone 
prophetic  of  coming  collapse.  "The  enemy,  yesterday 
and  to-day,"  wrote  Mr.  Mallory,  from  the  capital,  late  in 
October,"  is,  in  the  graphic  gorillaisms,  'pegging  away' 
close  at  us ;  and  the  flash  of  his  guns  is  visible  and  their  roar 
was  audible  from  my  piazza  yesterday.  His  approaches 
have  been  very  slow,  to  be  sure,  but  nevertheless,  he  has 
taken  no  step  backward,  but  is  'inching '  upon  Richmond 
surely  and  methodically  in  a  way  that  seems  as  gopher- 
like as  it  is  certain ;  and  he  will  keep  up  this  system  unless 
we  can,  by  hard  fighting,  push  him  back." 

Supported  by  the  hope  of  Mr.  Clay's  return,  and  know- 
ing he  would  seek  me  first  among  those  of  our  kin  who 
were  nearest  to  the  coast,  I  lingered  on  Beech  Island  until 
late  in  January,  1865,  though  I  did  so  against  the  advice 
of  Colonel  Clay,  who  urged  me  to  go  southward,  and  the 
assurances  of  Mr.  Davis  that  I  might  safely  return  to  Rich- 

*  A  cartoon  which  appeared  about  this  time  in  a  Richmond  paper 
was  a  graphic  demonstration  of  the  shrunk  value  of  Confederate 
money.  It  represented  a  man  going  to  and  returning  from  market. 
In  the  first  scene  he  carried  a  bushel  basket  piled  high  with  current 
bills;  in  the  second,  the  basket  was  empty,  and  in  his  hand  was  an 
infinitesimal  package,  which  was  supposed  to  contain  a  beef  steak  !  A.  S. 

235 


336  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

mond,  which  city,  the  President  was  confident,  would  con- 
tinue to  prove  an  impregnable  refuge.  In  the  last  days  of 
December  two  such  messages,  equally  positive  and  each 
positively  opposed  to  the  other  in  its  significance,  sped  to 
me  by  courier  from  the  capital.  Who  was  to  decide  when 
such  correspondents  disagreed?  Yet  the  need  for  some 
move  became  more  and  more  urgent.  To  return  to 
Huntsville  was  out  of  the  question.  Northern  Alabama 
was  overrun  with  Federal  soldiers,  to  whom  the  name 
alone  of  Clay,  borne  as  it  was  by  three  men  all  actively 
labouring  for  the  preservation  of  the  Confederate  States, 
was  a  challenge  to  the  exercise  of  fresh  authority.  I 
heard  distressing  news  of  the  contemplated  transportation, 
to  Nashville,  of  the  aged  ex-Governor  Clay  (our  uncle,  Mr. 
McDowell,  a  non-combatant  full  of  years,  had  already 
died  in  that  prison  under  most  pitiful  circumstances) ,  yet 
I  was  powerless  to  send  him  even  a  line  of  comfort  or 
encouragement.  Mail  routes  in  every  direction  were  in 
possession  of  the  enemy,  or  liable  to  be  interrupted  by 
them,  and  straggling  companies  of  Union  soldiers  were  on 
the  lookout  to  intercept  such  messengers  as  might 
attempt  to  bear  our  letters  from  point  to  point. 

My  husband  was  in  Canada,  or  on  the  seas,  I  knew  not 
where;  J.  Withers  Clay,  the  second  son  of  the  ex-Gov- 
ernor, was  active  with  pen  and  press  in  lower  Alabama ; 
Colonel  Clay  was  stationed  in  Richmond  in  the  thick  of 
the  political  battle.  Our  parents  were  left  alone  in  the  old 
home,  to  brave  the  discomforts  put  upon  them  by  their 
sometimes  cruel  and  sometimes  merely  thoughtless 
oppressors.  A  grandson,  Clement,  a  mere  lad,  but  a  hero 
in  spirit,  venturing  into  the  town  to  succour  the  old  people, 
was  promptly  arrested.  "I  wonder,"  wrote  one  who 
visited  our  parents,  "  that  their  heartstrings  have  not  long 
since  snapped  !  " 

All  through  the  Tennessee  Valley  dejection  was  spread- 
ing.    "  If  Mr.  Davis  does  not  restore  General  Johnston  to 


THE  DEATH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN       237 

the  army  of  the  Tennessee,"  wrote  J.  Withers  Clay,  "his 
friends  generally  out  here  believe  that  he  will  never 
recover  his  lost  popularity,  or  be  able  to  get  back  the 
thousands  of  soldiers  (now)  absent  without  leave.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  the  President  this.  You  have  no  idea  of 
the  extent  of  demoralisation  among  soldiers  and  citizens 
produced  by  his  persistent  refusal  to  restore  him  !  " 

For  now  several  months  I  had  been  secretly  tortured 
by  an  indecision  as  to  what  course  to  pursue.  Though 
urged  by  a  hundred  generous  correspondents  to  share 
their  homes  (for  I  have  ever  been  blessed  by  loyal  friends) , 
I  had  a  deepening  conviction  that  my  interests  were  de- 
tached from  all.  I  was  homeless,  husbandless,  childless, 
debarred  from  contributing  to  the  comfort  of  my  hus- 
band's parents,  and  I  chafed  at  my  separation  from 
those  to  whom  my  presence  might  have  proved  useful. 
As  time  went  on,  all  deprivations  and  anxieties  were 
obscured  by  one  consuming  determination  to  join  my 
husband  at  all  hazards;  but,  despite  every  effort  toward 
accomplishing  this,  I  found  myself  swept  helplessly 
along  by  the  strong  currents  of  the  times.  My  sole 
means  of  communication  with  Mr.  Clay  was  now  through 
occasional  "personals,"  which  were  published  in  the 
Richmond  Enquirer,  cooperating  with  the  New  York 
Daily  News.  One  of  these,  which  appeared  early  in 
November,  1864,  indicates  the  indecision  and  anxiety 
which  by  this  time  was  felt,  also,  by  my  husband  in 
his  exile: 

"To  Honourable  H.  L.  Clay,  Richmond,  Virginia.  I 
am  well.  Have  written  every  week,  but  received  no 
answer  later  than  the  30th  of  June.  Can  I  return  at 
once  ?  If  not,  send  my  wife  to  me  by  flag  of  truce,  via 
Washington,  but  not  by  sea.  Do  write  by  flag  of  truce 
care  John  Potts  Brown,  No.  93  Beaver  Street,  New  York. 
Answer  by  personal  through  Richmond  Enquirer  and 
New  York  News." 


238  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"I  inclose  you  a  'personal'  from  Brother  Clement, 
published  in  yesterday's  Enquirer,"  Colonel  Clay  wrote  on 
November  11,  1864.  "I  consulted  Mr.  Mallory,  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin and  the  President,  and  then  sent  him  the  following: 
'  Your  friends  think  the  sooner  you  return  the  better. 
At  the  point  where  you  change  vessels  you  can  ascertain 
whether  it  is  best  to  proceed  direct  or  by  Mexico.  Your 
wife  cannot  go  by  flag  of  truce.  She  is  well.  I  send  you 
letters  to-day  by  safe  hands.  H.  L.  C  The  reason  why 
the  earliest  return  is  advised  is  that  the  fleet  off  Wilming- 
ton is  not  yet  increased  to  the  degree  intended ;  and  dur- 
ing the  rough  weather,  before  the  hard  winter  sets  in, 
it  is  much  easier  for  vessels  to  run  the  blockade.  I 
shall  tell  him  that  the  statistics  kept  in  the  Export  and 
Import  Office  show  five  out  of  six  vessels,  inward  and 
outward  bound,  safely  run  the  blockade,  but  that  he 
must  himself  consider  the  risk  from  what  he  learns  after 
reaching  Bermuda." 

Colonel  Clay's  prompt  decision,  such  was  my  distracted 
state  of  mind,  by  no  means  satisfied  me.  The  sug- 
gestion contained  in  my  husband's  words  seemed  feasible 
to  my  courageous  mind.  I  despatched  a  note  of  inquiry 
at  once  to  Richmond,  begging  Mr.  Davis  to  wTrite  to  Mr. 
Seward  to  secure  my  safe  passage  by  land  to  Canada. 
I  told  him  of  my  unrest,  the  increasing  uncertainty  that 
prevailed  in  the  neighbourhood  of  "Redcliffe,"  and 
my  desire  to  join  my  husband.  The  President's  reply 
was  reassuring  and  full  of  the  confidence  which  sus- 
tained him  to  the  end  of  the  remaining  days  of  the 
Confederacy.  "There  is  no  danger  in  coming  here 
now,"  ran  his  message  from  the  capital,  dated  December 
29,  1864.  "When  he  (Mr.  Clay)  returns  he  will,  of 
course,  visit  this  place,  and  can  conveniently  meet  you 
here."  But,  when  I  proposed  to  try  to  make  my  way  to 
this  haven,  Colonel  Clay  wrote  excitedly,  animated 
by  an  anxiety  as  great  as  my  own : 


THE  DEATH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN       239 

"  Don't  come  to  Richmond  !  Don't  send  the  President 
letters  or  telegrams.  He  is  in  a  sea  of  trouble,  and  has 
no  time  or  thought  for  anything  except  the  safety  of  the 
country.  I  fear  the  Congress  is  turning  madly  against 
him.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the  sick  lion  whom  even  the 
jackass  can  kick  without  fear.  It  is  a  very  struggle  for 
life  with  him.  I  do  not  know  that  he  has  any  reliable 
friends  in  Congress,  who  will  sustain  him  upon  principle, 
fearlessly  and  ably.  He  has  less  and  less  power  to 
intimidate  his  enemies,  and  they  grow  more  numerous 
every  day.  ...  If  he  were  preeminently  gifted 
in  all  respects,  the  present  moment  is  perilous  enough 
to  call  forth  all  his  energies  no  matter  how  great.  .  .  . 
Before  this  reaches  you,  you  will  have  read  my  private 
letter  to  Hammond,  in  regard  to  the  military  situation 
in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia.  I  think  as  soon  as  Sherman 
reduces  Savannah,  he  will  move  promptly  up  the  Savan- 
nah River,  and  endeavour  to  capture  Charleston  by 
taking  it  in  reverse.  That  success  would  be  a  feather 
in  any  general's  cap.  We  cannot  hope  to  make  fight 
on  that  river,  I  think,  but  must  take  the  Edesto  as  our 
line  of  defense.  Now,  look  upon  the  map  and  you  will 
see  that  the  whole  of  Beech  Island  lies  between  the 
two  rivers,  and  in  the  event  Sherman  moves  up  (as  he 
will  do,  to  cut  off  supplies  from  Charleston  and  Virginia), 
the  South  Carolina  Railroad  will  fall  within  the  line  of 
his  advance.  I  only  give  you  my  personal  opinion;  for, 
of  course,  no  one  can  speak  assuredly  of  Sherman's 
intentions.  If  I  am  right,  I  think  you  had  better  move 
in  the  direction  of  Alabama  before  there  is  any  rush  of 
travel,  and  as  soon  as  you  can  well  do  so.  .  .  .  In 
Alabama  or  western  Georgia  there  will  be  plenty  of 
food;  more,  indeed,  because  of  the  inability  to  bring  it 
east  of  Augusta.  I  write  to  advise  you  to  go  as  far 
away  from  the  line  of  the  enemy's  march  as  you  can. 

I  dare  not  look  into  the  future,   after  Hood's 


24o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

battles  in  Tennessee,  if  the  Yankee  accounts  are  verified. 
God  knows  we  are  pressed  hard  on  every  side  by  the 
enemy,  and  have  no  wise  counsellors  to  give  proper 
direction  to  our  weak,  erring  efforts  for  independence. 
Passion  and  prejudice  and  personal  feelings  govern  in 
many  instances  where  patriotism  should  rule.  Congress 
is  discussing  questions  of  the  smallest  moment  while  the 
Confederacy  is  in  the  grip  of  the  Yankees  struggling  for 
existence.  ...  I  fear  the  pending  attack  upon 
Wilmington  will  prevent  Brother  Clement  from  coming 
in  at  the  Port  (if  he  should  conclude  not  to  go  to  Mexico) 
for  some  time  yet.  Until  the  flotilla  set  sail  from  Fortress 
Monroe  I  looked  for  him  to  come  in  about  the  last  of  this 
month  or  the  first  of  the  next.  Now  I  shall  not  know 
when  to  expect  him,  for  no  vessels  will  attempt  the 
blockade  there  at  Washington." 

It  now  became  apparent  that  to  wait  at  our  exposed 
Island  was  no  longer  prudent.  A  family  council  was 
called,  and  it  was  decided  that,  upon  the  first  sign  of  a 
suitable  escort,  I  should  make  my  way  to  Macon.  I 
had  not  long  to  wait.  Within  a  few  days  we  learned 
of  the  presence  of  General  Howell  Cobb  in  Augusta. 
I  wrote  to  him  at  once,  telling  him  of  my  contemplated 
exodus  and  of  my  desire  to  place  myself  under 
his  protection  upon  his  return  journey  to  his  head- 
quarters at  Macon.  He  replied  with  the  gallant  cor- 
diality which  was  ever  a  characteristic  with  him,  and 
which  I  think  would  never  have  deserted  him  even  in 
the  midst  of  the  roar  of  cannon: 

"Augusta,  Georgia,  January  21,  1865. 
"  My  Dear  Friend:  .  .  .  I  assure  you  that  your  threat 
to  cling  to  me  like  the  old  man  of  the  sea  to  Sinbad  is  the 
most  agreeable  threat  that  ever  was  made  to  me,  and  it  shall 
not  be  my  fault  if  it  is  not  executed.  I  am  here  under 
orders  from  Richmond,  which  leave  me  in  doubt  whether  I 
am  to  remain  a  day,  a  month,  or  a  year.  My  opinion  is  that 
I  will  be  ordered  back  to  Macon  in  a  very  few  days,  and  there 


THE  DEATH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN       241 

is  no  telling  at  what  hour  I  may  receive  the  order.  To  make 
it  certain,  however,  that  I  can  give  you  timely  notice,  you 
ought  to  be  in  Augusta.  I  am  ready  to  receive  the  acceptable 
trust  and  devote  my  best  efforts  to  your  comfort  and  happi- 
ness. Very   truly   your   friend, 

"  Howell  Cobb." 

Early  in  February  I  arrived  in  Macon  without  mis- 
adventure, and  here,  on  February  10th,  my  husband 
joined  me,  having  learned  of  my  whereabouts  from  our 
friends  in  Augusta. 

Mr.  Clay's  experiences  since  leaving  Nassau  had  been 
exciting.  The  Rattlesnake,  a  hitherto  skilful  blockade 
runner,  on  which  he  had  taken  passage,  was  bound  for 
Charleston;  but,  finding  an  entrance  at  that  port  impos- 
sible for  the  moment,  she  had  crept  cautiously  up  to 
Wilmington,  only  to  be  obliged  again  to  show  her  heels 
to  the  wary  and  enlarged  blockading  fleet.  After 
numerous  efforts  to  find  a  friendly  harbour,  the  little  ship, 
reconnoitering  about  the  South  Carolinian  coast,  ran 
aground  four  miles  away  from  Fort  Moultrie,  grounded, 
it  was  rumoured,  by  the  pilot.  Here  the  little  craft,  which 
quickly  became  the  target  of  the  enemies'  guns,  was 
abandoned,  her  timbers  ablaze,  while  passengers  and 
crew,  taking  to  the  life-boats,  bore  with  them  such 
baggage  as  might  be  gathered  in  their  haste;  and  now, 
to  cap  the  climax  of  their  disasters,  the  life-boats,  too, 
ran  aground,  and  sailors  and  passengers  were  compelled 
repeatedly  to  wade  through  the  waves,  which  dashed 
throat-high  about  them,  in  an  effort  to  rescue  the  pieces 
of  baggage  they  had  been  able  to  save  from  the  ship. 
On  that  cold,  blustery  day  in  early  February,  in  garments 
saturated  with  brine,  Mr.  Clay  was  taken  in  a  yawl  to 
Fort  Moultrie,  whence,  ill  from  the  exposure  he  had  under- 
gone, he  was  carried  in  a  sail-boat  to  Charleston  by  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Aldrich,  an  accidental  visitor  to  the  Fort. 
By  that  kindly  man  he  was  put  to  bed   and  to  sleep 


242  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

under  the  stimulus  of  orange-leaf  tea,  while  his 
clothing  and  few  rescued  belongings  were  undergoing  a 
drying. 

Upon  awakening,  Mr.  Clay's  first  effort  was  to  forward 
to  Richmond  to  the  care  of  Colonel  Clay,  to  be  held 
until  his  own  arrival  in  the  capital,  a  small  hand-trunk 
addressed  to  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  and  to  General  Lee, 
his  restored  pet;  his  second,  to  find  me.  This  accom- 
plished, it  was  his  intention  to  proceed  at  once  to  Rich- 
mond, to  deliver  in  person  his  State  papers,  the  most 
important  of  which  he  had  carried  in  an  oil-silk  bag 
suspended  about  his  neck.  To  the  complete  frustration 
of  his  plans,  however,  my  hapless  husband  found  the 
railway  route  between  Augusta,  where  he  supposed 
me  to  be,  and  Charleston,  now  effectually  closed.  It 
was  by  a  roundabout  road,  therefore,  made  partly  by 
carriage,  that  he  reached  the  desired  point  on  the  seventh 
of  February,  only  to  learn  of  my  departure  a  few  days 
before  under  the  escort  of  General  Cobb.  By  the  ioth, 
when  Mr.  Clay  arrived  at  last  in  Macon,  he  had  informed 
himself  of  the  grave  plight  of  our  armies,  and  of  the 
lamentable  political  differences  existing  in  the  capital, 
to  which  Colonel  Clay,  in  his  letter  to  me,  had  alluded. 
A  few  hurried  conferences  with  General  Cobb  and  others, 
and  together  we  took  our  departure  for  Richmond. 
Everything  which  might  become  an  impediment  to  the 
rough  travel  that  lay  before  us  was  dispensed  with,  even 
my  invaluable  maid,  Emily,  being  left  behind  at  the  home 
of  Major  Whittle.  We  proceeded  first  to  Washington, 
Georgia,  going,  upon  our  arrival,  to  the  home  of  General 
Toombs,  where  was  sojourning  Mr.  Stephens,  our  Vice- 
President.  The  hearts  of  all  were  heavy  as  the  gentle- 
men conferred  together  upon  the  outlook  of  our  country 
and  arms.  Letters  from  Richmond  which  reached  our 
hands  at  this  point  were  excited  in  tone,  and  added  to 
our  apprehension  and  sorrow. 


THE  DEATH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN       243 

"On  every  side,"  wrote  our  sister,  "the  city  rings  with 
the  cries  of  Rachels  weeping  for  their  children  ! " 

"  Don't  come  to  Richmond  ! "  urged  Colonel  Clay,  "  [or] 
if  you  think  it  necessary  to  come  on,  do  so  at  once; 
don't  delay.  Leave  sister;  don't  undertake  to  bring  her 
in  the  present  uncertain  condition  of  the  railroad  con- 
nections between  here  and  the  Georgia  line.  .  .  . 
Our  armies  have  been  dwindling,  until  none  is  large 
enough  to  withstand  an  attack  in  the  open  field.  There 
is  a  collapse  in  every  department,  and,  worse  than  all, 
there  is  an  utter  lack  of  confidence  by  the  people,  in  the 
administration,  in  Congress,  and  in  the  success  of  the 
cause  itself.  .  .  .  Campbell  will  go  out.  He  cannot 
see  any  benefit  to  be  derived  from  his  longer  continuance 
in  office  as  the  drudge  of  the  War  Department,  especially 
when  the  Treasury  is  bankrupt,  and  Congress  cannot 
devise  a  new  scheme  for  reestablishing  faith  in  the 
currency.  That  department  is  $400,000,000  in  arrears, 
it  is  said.  I  know  it  is  enormously  in  debt  to  the  War 
Department  ($32,000,000),  and  that  the  Quartermaster 
General  and  the  Commissary  General  cannot  obtain  the 
means  to  pay  current  expenses.  If  we  cannot  have 
transportation  and  bread  for  the  soldiers  in  the  field,  to 
say  nothing  of  clothing  and  pay,  .  .  .  what  becomes 
of  our  army?  ...  As  I  see  the  present  and  argue 
thence  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  us,  .  .  .  I 
see  nothing  but  defeat  and  disaster  and  ruin  ! ' ' 

Characterised  throughout  his  life  by  a  punctilious  ob- 
servance of  everything  which  in  his  eyes  appeared  a  duty, 
Mr.  Clay  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  even  such  grave 
news  from  carrying  out  his  intention  to  deliver  in  person, 
to  the  President  and  Mr.  Benjamin,  an  account  of  his 
stewardship  in  Canada.  Late  in  February,  therefore, 
he  resumed  his  journey,  mounted  upon  General  Toomb's 
grey  mare,  and  accompanied  by  the  General's  man, 
Wallace.     He  had  not   proceeded  far,   however,    when, 


244  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

overtaken  by  an  illness,  the  result  of  his  exposure  at 
Charleston,  he  was  obliged  to  return  to  Washington.  A 
month  elapsed  ere  he  was  able  again  to  set  out  for  Rich- 
mond, the  city  which  was  so  soon  to  be  the  theatre  of  our 
national  collapse. 

The  roads  now,  in  many  places,  were  impassible. 
The  number  of  Union  soldiers  was  increasing  daily  in  the 
States  which  Mr.  Clay  must  cross  in  his  northward  journey. 
My  husband,  with  his  precious  documents,  would  have 
been  a  rich  prize  to  any  who  might  have  seized  him. 
Through  many  vicissitudes  he  made  his  cautious  way 
toward  the  capital,  securing  a  horse,  when  he  could,  or  a 
mule  team,  or  following  the  railroad  tracks  where  neces- 
sary. Much  of  the  journey  he  made  alone,  but  he 
sometimes  found  himself  in  company,  and  that  not  always 
wholly  desirable.  On  one  occasion  he  fell  in  with  two 
straggling  Confederate  soldiers,  and,  being  near  the 
home  of  a  distant  kinsman,  Robert  Withers,  upon  the 
arrival  of  the  trio  he  asked  Mr.  Withers'  hospitality  for 
them  all.  Consent  was  promptly  forthcoming,  but  my 
husband's  feelings  were  somewhat  less  cordial  toward 
his  whilom  companions  when  one  was  allotted  to  him  as 

a  bedfellow.     "  Had  to  sleep  with ,"  reads  his  diary, 

"much  to  my  dread  of  camp-itch  !" 

Eight  days  were  consumed  in  that  journey  to  the 
capital,  by  this  time  the  scene  of  an  excitement  truly 
anarchistic.  Mr.  Clay  was  probably  the  last  man  in  the 
Confederate  service  to  seek  to  enter  Richmond.  The 
trend  of  Confederate  travel  just  then  was  in  an  opposite 
direction. 

Making  at  once  for  Colonel  Clay's  headquarters,  my 
husband  secured  the  trunk  destined  for  Mr.  Benjamin,  to 
whom  he  shortly  afterward  transferred  his  papers.  The 
transaction  was  a  hurried  one,  and  Mr.  Clay  pushed  on 
to  the  apartment  of^Mt?.  Davis.  In  after,  days  I  often 
heard  him  describe  the  scene  which  there  met  him.     He 


THE  DEATH  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN      245 

found  the  President  engaged  in  hastily  packing  a  valise,     , 
his  clothing  and  papers  scattered  in  -little  heaps  about.     I  t/ 

think  he  assisted  his  hapless  friend  in  these  preparations. 
An  hour  or  two  later  and  Mr.  Clay  was  en  route  for  Dan- 
ville, on  the  last  of  the  over-laden  trains  to  draw  out 
from  the  once  dear  but  now  desolated  city.  Of  the  sad 
journey  of  the  President  through  the  Carolinas,  with 
his  company  of  legislative  friends,  of  which,  for  a  portion 
of  the  way,  my  husband  was  one,  I  remember  no  par- 
ticulars. I  recall  a  hasty  return  to  Macon,  where  Mr. 
Clay  joined  me,  whence  we  hurried  on  in  a  few  days  to 
the  home  of  former  Senator  B.  H.  Hill,  at  Lagrange,  in 
western  Georgia.  The  remembrance  of  the  days  that 
immediately  succeeded  the  evacuation  of  Richmond, 
followed,  as  that  event  was,  by  the  murder  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  is  a  confused  one.  A  kind  of  horror  seized  my 
husband  when  he  realised  the  truth  of  the  reports  that 
reached  us  of  this  tragedy.  At  first  he  had  refused  to 
credit  them.  "It's  a  canard!"  he  said;  but  when,  at 
last,  he  could  no  longer  doubt,  he  exclaimed:  "God  help 
us  !  If  that  be  true,  it  is  the  worst  blow  that  yet  has 
been  struck  at  the  South  !" 


CHAPTER   XIX 
C.    C.    Clay,    Jr.,    Surrenders   to   General   Wilson 

Upon  leaving  the  home  of  General  Toombs,  we 
proceeded  directly  to  that  of  Senator  Hill,  where 
shortly  were  gathered  ex-Secretary  of  our  Navy  and 
Mrs.  Mallory,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Semmes,  of  Louisiana, 
and  Senator  Wigfall.  We  were  an  anxious  circle, 
our  hearts  heavy  with  the  constantly  increasing  testi- 
mony to  our  great  disaster,  and  our  minds  alert  to 
measure  the  ways  and  means  of  our  future  course.  My 
husband  and  Mr.  Wigfall  had  already  determined  to 
seek  the  other  side  of  the  Mississippi,  there  to  join  the 
gallant  Kirby  Smith,  and  make  a  last  stand  for  our 
cause ;  or,  if  needs  must  be,  to  press  on  to  Texas.  Day  by 
day  disturbing  news  reached  us  concerning  the  where- 
abouts of  Mr.  Davis  and  his  party,  now  making  their 
sorry  flight  toward  the  coast  of  Florida,  fugitives  from 
the  Federal  authorities. 

A  Northerner  would  have  found  us  a  wonderful  nest 
of  "rebels,"  could  he  have  looked  in  upon  the  group  that 
one  evening  surrounded  the  table  in  the  library  of  the 
Hill  residence,  upon  which  was  spread  the  map  of  Georgia. 
The  gentlemen  were  seated,  the  ladies  standing  behind 
them.  Every  eye  was  bent  upon  the  road  which  our 
host  was  pointing  out. 

"If  Davis  would  take  this  route" — and  Mr.  Hill's 
finger  traced  the  way  upon  the  diagram  before  us,  "if  he 
keeps  to  it  without  any  detour  whatsoever,  he  will  get 
away,"  he  declared.  "  If  he  turns  aside  a  step  or  lingers 
an  hour  he  is  lost !     If  he  crosses  the  river  there" — and 

246 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  247 

our  host,  who  knew  the  topography  of  his  State  by  heart, 
paused  as  he  marked  the  spot,  "no  one  can  take  him!" 

Not  a  member  of  that  circle  but  was  tense  in  his  or 
her  desire  that  our  chief  should  be  spared  the  ignominy 
and  pain  of  capture.  The  magnanimity  of  Senator 
Wigfall,  whose  antagonism  to  President  Davis  had 
caused  a  profound  concern  in  Richmond  in  this  hour  of 
the  Confederacy's  downfall,  was  especially  marked. 

To  the  present,  none  of  those  assembled  at  the  hos- 
pitable Hill  home  had  reason  to  apprehend  a  personal 
danger  from  the  conquering  party.  The  meeting  had 
taken  place  at  Appomattox  which,  more  than  victories 
gained,  has  made  the  name  of  Grant  immortal.  The 
Northern  General  had  received  the  proffer  of  Lee's  sword, 
and  peace  had  been  proclaimed.  By  the  terms  made  we 
had  some  little  reason  to  be  optimistic  as  to  our  future, 
despite  the  peopling  of  our  Southern  cities  with  Union 
soldiers.  The  developments  of  one  fateful  day,  however, 
unveiled  to  us  the  actual  perils  we  were  yet  to  face. 

As  I  have  said,  my  husband  and  Mr.  Wigfall  had 
practically  completed  their  arrangements  to  leave  La- 
grange and  strike  for  the  Mississippi.  It  was  my  ex- 
pectation, thereupon,  to  return  to  our  parents'  home  in 
Hunts ville.  The  day  agreed  upon  for  my  departure  ap- 
proached. At  the  request  of  my  husband,  I  drove  to  the 
cars  to  ascertain  what  currency  would  be  required  to 
take  me  to  Macon,  whence  I  was  to  proceed  at  once  to 
Alabama.  In  company  with  Henrietta  Hill  and  her 
little  brother,  I  drove  to  the  station  in  time  to  see  the 
afternoon  train  pull  in.  As  it  swept  into  the  city  with  a 
shrill  scream,  it  was  crowded  with  men  and  women  of 
both  races;  so  overcrowded,  rather,  that  many  clung  to 
the  platforms.  There  were  shouts  and  a  general  Babel, 
which  I  did  not  understand,  and,  as  debarkation  began, 
to  these  was  added  the  bedlam  of  drunken  laughter. 
When  as  near  to  the  cars  as  the  carriage  would  permit,  I 


248  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

directed  Benny  Hill  to  go  forward  to  the  conductor  and 
ask  "  What  currency  is  needed  to  get  to  Macon  ? " 

The  man  seemed  to  understand  that  I  had  prompted 
the  question,  and  called  to  me,  "Gold  or  greenbacks, 
Madam?"  Then,  not  waiting  for  my  reply,  he  hastened 
to  add  the  news,  "  Macon  has  been  surrendered  by 
General  Howell  Cobb  to  the  Federals,  General  Wilson 
commanding.  Atlanta,  as  you  know,  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  Yankees,  Colonel  Eggleston  in  charge  !" 

This  was  disappointing  news  to  me,  as  I  had  but  little 
gold  and  a  peck  of  Confederate  paper,  which  was  not 
likely  to  carry  me  far  under  reported  conditions.  I 
waited  until  the  crowd  had  thinned  out  somewhat,  and 
then  questioned  the  man  further. 

"  Is  there  any  other  news  than  that  of  the  proclama- 
tion for  Mr.  Davis's  arrest?"  I  asked.  His  reply 
astounded  me. 

"Yes,  Madam!"  he  said;  "$100,000*  is  offered  for 
Clement  C.  Clay,  of  Alabama."  A  trembling  seized  me. 
I  don't  know  how  I  made  my  way  to  the  carriage.  Before 
I  was  fairly  seated  I  sawT  Colonel  Philip  Phillips,  at  this 
time  a  resident  of  Lagrange,  coming  toward  us.  In  his 
hands  he  held  a  journal.  Quickly  reaching  the  carriage, 
he  handed  me  the  paper,  and,  pointing  to  the  despatch, 
which  contained  the  proclamation,  he  said,  "  Go  home 
quickly  and  give  this  to  Mr.  Clay  ! ' ' 

Scarcely  aware  of  what  I  did,  I  ordered  the  coachman 
to  drive  back  at  once,  forgetting  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  to  invite  the  Colonel  to  accompany  me.  Arriv- 
ing at  the  Hill  residence,  I  met  my  hostess  almost  at  the 
door. 

"Please  ask  the  gentlemen  to  come  to  us!"    I    said 

*  The  actual  amount  offered  for  Mr.  Clay's  apprehension  was 
$25,000;  but,  in  the  dissemination  of  the  proclamation  through  the 
press,  the  larger  sum  was  repeatedly  given  as  the  amount  offered — ■ 
being  so  quoted  by  General  Wilson  and  others.  See  Records  of  the 
Rebellion,  series  I,  vol.  XLIX,  page  733. 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  249 

faintly,  "I  have  important  news  !"  and  I  hastened 
upstairs. 

I  found  Mr.  Clay  sitting  quietly,  deep  in  the  conning  of 
a  thick  volume.  It  was  Burton's  "Anatomy  of  Melan- 
choly," ever  a  favourite  with  him.  It  lay  open  on  his 
knee,  steadied  with  one  hand;  the  other,  as  was  a  habit 
with  my  husband,  was  stroking  his  beard,  absent- 
mindedly.  Before  I  could  summon  my  voice  to  utter 
the  terrible  news,  the  others  of  the  party  had  hastened 
upstairs.  Handing  the  fatal  paper  to  Senator  Hill,  I 
cried,  half -hysterically,  "For  God's  sake,  read  that!" 

As  Mr.  Hill  read  the  proclamation  aloud,  everyone  was 
silent.  Senator  Semmes  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence 
that  followed  the  reading. 

"Fly  for  your  life,  Clay  !"  he  said,  "The  town  is  full 
of  men  from  two  disbanded  armies,  any  of  whom  would 
be  tempted  by  such  a  sum.  Take  no  chances  !  "  Then 
all  at  once  everyone  but  my  husband  began  to  talk  ex- 
citedly. As  the  meaning  of  the  despatch  broke  upon 
him,  Mr.  Clay  blanched  a  moment,  but  at  Mr.  Semmes's 
urgings  he  spoke. 

"Fly?"  he  said,  slowly,  like  one  recovering  from  a 
blow,  "from  what?"     Mr.  Semmes's  answer  came  drily. 

"From  death,  I  fear!"  he  said.  My  husband  turned 
inquiringly  to  the  others.  Secretary  Mallory,  seeing 
the  unspoken  question  in  his  face,  answered  it. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Clay !  One  hundred 
thousand  dollars  is  a  glittering  bribe  to  half-starved 
soldiers!"  He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  a  knock  was 
heard.  Alarmed  by  the  thought  that  some  renegade 
was  already  come  to  arrest  my  husband,  I  flew  to  the 
door  and  locked  it.  As  I  did  so,  Senator  Hill  was  beside 
me,  and  I  remember  the  forceful  feeling  with  which  he 
spoke,  even  as  the  click  of  the  key  sounded. 

"By  the  eternal  God,  Clay!"  he  said.  "The  man 
who  dares  cross  my  threshold  to  arrest  you,  falls  on  it." 


250  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Fortunately  our  fears  were  groundless,  for  in  a  moment 
we  heard  the  word,  "Phillips!"  and,  upon  opening  the 
door,  the  Colonel  quickly  entered.  His  calm  bearing 
was  a  relief  to  us.  Some  one  at  once  put  the  question 
to  him,  "What  do  you  think  Clay  ought  to  do?" 

"  What  does  Mr.  Clay  think  he  should  do  ? "  was  Colonel 
Phillips's  reply.     My  husband  was  prompt  to  answer: 

"As  I  am  conscious  of  my  innocence,  my  judgment  is 
that  I  should  at  once  surrender  to  the  nearest  Federal 
authorities  ! "  he  said. 

At  this  announcement  I  could  not  restrain  my  sobs. 
I  doubt  not  I  troubled  him  much  by  my  tears  and  plead- 
ings. I  begged  him  hysterically  to  fly ;  I  would  join  him 
anywhere  if  he  would  but  escape.  But  my  ever  patient 
husband  only  answered,  as  he  tried  to  calm  me,  "  Virginia  ! 
my  wife!     Would  you  have  me  fly  like  an  assassin?" 

I  could  say  no  more,  but  only  listen,  between  the 
crowding  fears  and  terrors  that  seized  me,  while  those 
about  discussed  the  wording  of  a  telegram  which,  a  short 
time  afterward,  Colonel  Phillips  carried  to  the  telegraph 
office.     It  ran  thus: 

"  Bt.  Major-General  Wilson,  United  States  Army:  Seeing 
the  proclamation  of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  I  go 
to-day  with  the  Honourable  P.  Phillips,  to  deliver  myself  to 
your  custody.  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr." 

I  think  this  resolute  act,  and  the  preparation  of  a 
letter  which  was  immediately  written  to  the  same  general, 
relieved  my  husband,  for  he  was  instantly  calmer.  For 
myself,  I  felt  that  he  had  signed  his  own  death  warrant. 
During  the  succeeding  hours,  the  entire  household  was 
in  consultation.  Having  decided  to  proceed  to  Macon 
by  the  early  train  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Clay  retired  and 
slept,  to  my  surprise,  as  peacefully  as  a  child,  though  I, 
less  fortunate,  watched  and  wondered  at  his  calmness. 

Early  the  following  morning  we  left  Lagrange,  ac- 
companied   by    Colonel    Phillips.     The   world    appeared 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  251 

very  strange  and  worthless  to  me  as  the  train  hastened  on 
to  Atlanta,  where  a  change  of  cars  was  necessary.  We 
found  that  city  a  pandemonium;  soldiers  patrolling  the 
streets,  drums  beating,  and  vans,  loaded  with  furniture, 
moving  up  and  down  the  avenues.  In  our  desire  to 
proceed  as  rapidly  as  possible  we  accosted  a  soldier. 

"Where  is  Colonel  Eggleston?"  Colonel  Phillips  asked. 

"There  he  is,  within  ten  feet  of  you!"  was  the  reply. 
The  Colonel  thereupon  approached  the  officer  in  com- 
mand and  said  to  him,  "  I  have  a  distinguished  friend 
here,  Mr.  Clement  C.  Clay,  of  Alabama,  who  is  on  his 
way  voluntarily  to  surrender  himself." 

On  hearing  my  husband's  name,  Colonel  Eggleston 
approached  us  and  held  out  his  hand,  saying:  "Is  it 
possible,  Mr.  Clay,  you  are  the  man  who  is  making  such 
a  stir  in  the  land  ?  I  am  not  surprised  at  your  surrender. 
I  knew  your  record  through  my  Senators,  Pugh  and 
Pendleton,  of  Ohio.  You've  done  the  right  thing,  sir, 
and  I  hope  you'll  soon  be  a  free  man." 

Mr.  Clay,  surprised  at  the  Federal  Colonel's  magna- 
nimity, turned  and  presented  him  to  me.  He  extended 
his  hand.  I  took  it.  It  was  the  first  Yankee  hand  I 
had  touched  since  we  had  left  Minnesota,  four  years  before. 
The  Colonel  assured  us  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  proceed 
that  night  to  Macon.  "It  will  be  best  for  you,"  he  said, 
"  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Kimball  House.  But  the  city 
is  in  a  tumult,  and,  as  Mrs.  Clay  is  with  you,  I  will  have 
a  guard  that  you  may  not  be  disturbed."  When  we  were 
ready  to  retire,  two  soldiers  appeared,  with  muskets  in 
hand,  and  took  their  stand,  one  at  each  side  of  our 
chamber  door,  where  they  remained  until  the  next 
morning. 

Shortly  after  breakfast,  Colonel  Eggleston  presented 
himself.  His  manner  was  courteous.  "As  times  are  so 
turbulent,"  he  said,  "  I  think  it  best  that  I  should  detail  a 
guard  to  accompany  you  to  Macon;  that  is,"  he  added, 


252  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"unless  you  object."  Upon  Mr.  Clay's  assurance  that 
the  guard  would  not  be  unpleasant  to  us,  the  General 
presented  Lieutenant  Keck,  a  young  officer,  who,  during 
the  conversation,  had  been  standing  near.  Thereupon 
the  Lieutenant  attached  himself  to  our  party  and  we 
boarded  the  car  for  Macon.  Throughout  the  trip  our 
guard  behaved  with  undeviating  consideration,  and  this, 
under  trying  circumstances;  for,  the  wires  flashing  the 
news  about  the  country,  many  of  the  stations  along  the 
road  were  crowded  with  friends,  who,  when  they  saw 
us,  uttered  expressions  of  intensest  regret,  even  urging 
my  husband  to  fly.  On  more  than  one  occasion,  so 
considerate  was  Lieutenant  Keek's  conduct,  that  he 
allowed  Mr.  Clay  to  leave  the  car,  unguarded. 

During  that  journey  the  young  officer  addressed  me 
but  twice ;  the  first  time  to  offer  me  a  glass  of  water,  and 
the  second  to  tell  me  a  piece  of  news  that  shocked  me  in 
double  force.  As  we  approached  Macon,  my  husband  had 
endeavoured  to  prepare  me  for  whatever  the  future 
might  hold  for  us.  He  was  a  prisoner,  he  said,  and 
though  self -surrendered,  I  must  not  be  alarmed  if  we 
should  find  a  phalanx  of  soldiers  waiting  us  at  the  depot. 
The  picture  thus  conjured  had  already  made  me  sick  at 
heart,  when  my  husband,  excusing  himself,  went  forward 
into  the  next  car  for  a  few  moments.  A  short  time  after- 
ward Lieutenant  Keck  appeared.  Approaching  me  he 
said,  with  some  hesitation,  "  Mrs.  Clay,  I  have  some  sad 
news  for  you !" 

My  husband's  previous  words  suddenly  rushed  over  me. 
He  had  been  preparing  me  for  something  he  knew  but 
dared  not  tell  me !  In  a  moment,  in  my  mind's  eye,  I 
saw  a  gibbet.  "Great  God,"  I  cried.  "What  is  it? 
Will  they  hang  my  husband  ? " 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Mrs.  Clay,"  our  guard  answered. 
"Don't  cry!     Your  chief  was  arrested  yesterday!" 

"My  chief,"  I  echoed.     "You  mean  General  Lee?" 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  253 

"No  !"  was  his  response,  "Mr.  Davis  !  He  is  now  at 
the  Lanier  House,  in  Macon!"  The  loosening  of  the 
tension  to  which  I  first  had  been  keyed  was  so  great  that 
I  was  scarcely  able  to  utter  a  comment,  nor  had  I  re- 
covered from  the  shock  when  the  train  pulled  into 
Macon.  Notwithstanding  my  husband's  brave  counsels, 
the  news  of  Mr.  Davis's  arrest  added  a  hundredfold  to 
our  depression.  When  I  told  Colonel  Phillips  and  Mr. 
Clay,  who  shortly  returned,  my  husband's  face  grew 
graver.  "If  that  is  true,"  he  said,  "my  surrender  was 
a  mistake.     We  shall  both  perish  !" 

In  an  indistinct  way  I  felt  my  husband  to  be  right; 
and  surely  after  events  demonstrated  how  nearly  truly 
he  had  prophesied.  The  almost  instantaneous  appearance 
of  Mr.  Clay  and  Mr.  Davis  as  prisoners  produced  a  con- 
fusion in  the  press  statements  and  telegrams  that  flew 
over  the  country,  and  coloured  the  feeling  of  the  public  to 
such  an  extent  that  those  in  high  places  who  were  seeking 
sacrificial  victims  were  enabled,  without  exciting  a 
protest,  to  overlook  the  fact  that  Mr.  Clay,  scorning 
arrest,  had  confidently  and  voluntarily  committed  him- 
self into  the  Government's  hands,  to  court  its  fullest 
investigation.  "The  arrest  of  Clement  C.  Clay,"  was  the 
heading  under  which  my  husband's  courageous  act  was 
buried  in  so  far  as  it  might  be ;  and  so  generally  was  the 
fact  of  his  "voluntary  surrender  overlooked,  that  a  South- 
ern historian,  whose  books  have  been  circulated  among 
schools,  took  up  the  phrase  and  incorporated  it  among 
the  "historic"  facts  which  children  con. 

Arrived  at  Macon,  we  found  a  single  transfer  wagon  at 
the  station.  To  this  we  were  conducted,  and  our  party 
of  four,  with  our  grips  and  valises,  completely  filled  the 
vehicle.  As  we  drove  away  from  the  station  I  felt  much 
as  must  have  felt  the  poor  wretches  in  the  French  Revolu- 
tion as  they  sat  in  the  tumbrels  that  bore  them  to  the 
guillotine. 


254  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

We  drove  at  once  to  the  residence  of  our  friends, 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Whittle,  whence  Colonel  Phillips  pro- 
ceeded to  General  Wilson's  headquarters  to  deliver  my 
husband's  letter  announcing  his  surrender.  It  was  a 
beautiful  afternoon.  The  trees  were  in  full  foliage  and 
the  air  delicious  with  sweet  odours  of  Southern  blossoms. 
Dusk  was  approaching  as,  without  previous  announce- 
ment, we  drove  up  to  the  Whittle  home.  The  family 
were  seated  on  the  veranda.  With  them  was  our 
brother,  J.  Withers  Clay.  As  they  recognised  us  they 
rushed  down  the  steps  to  meet  us,  full  of  eager  questioning. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  they  cried.  "Why  have  you 
come  here?"  and  every  eye  was  full  when  my  husband 
answered,  "  I  have  surrendered  to  the  United  States 
Government.  Allow  me  to  present  my  guard,  Lieutenant 
Keck!"  Never  shall  I  forget  how  dear  Mrs.  Whittle 
(who  was  slightly  deaf),  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  reached 
out  her  hand  to  that  representative  of  our  triumphant 
antagonists,  as  if,  by  a  forbearing  kindness,  she  would 
bespeak  his  favour  for  my  husband. 

As  we  entered  the  house,  we  were  all  in  tears,  and 
Colonel  Phillips,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  leave  the  painful 
scene,  hastened  to  deliver  his  message  to  the  General  in 
command.  Returning  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  he 
reported  General  Wilson  as  approving  Mr.  Clay's  course. 
He  sent  word  that  he  was  awaiting  instructions  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Davis's  party,  "Whom,  I  presume,  you  will 
accompany.  Meanwhile,  I  request  that  you  will  not 
talk  of  the  surrender!"  He  further  directed  that 
Lieutenant  Keck  be  sent  immediately  to  him.  I  think 
this  young  soldier  had  a  tender  heart,  for,  seemingly 
touched  at  our  sorrowful  situation,  he  lingered  about  a 
moment  as  if  unwilling  to  leave  us  without  a  farewell. 
Seeing  his  hesitation,  I  offered  him  my  hand  and  thanked 
him  for  his  humane  treatment  of  my  husband,  which,  I 
assured  him,  I  should  ever  remember.     If  his  eyes,  or 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  255 

those  of  others  to  whom  he  was  dear  should  see  this 
acknowledgment  they  will  know  I  did  not  speak  lightly. 

General  Wilson's  request  was  scrupulously  observed 
by  us,  and  though  friends  came  in  numbers  to  sympathise 
with  us  and  encourage  us,  we  were  silent  on  the  forbidden 
topic  of  my  husband's  surrender.  A  day  or  two  later, 
word  came  that  we  must  hold  ourselves  in  readiness  to 
leave  Macon.  Meantime,  I  had  addressed  a  note  to 
General  Wilson,  begging  that  I  might  be  allowed  to 
accompany  my  husband  on  his  journey  to  his  desti- 
nation, wherever  it  might  be.  The  Commanding 
General  promptly  acceded  to  my  request,  though,  he 
assured  me,  the  trip  before  us  would  be  a  rough  and 
disagreeable  one,  and  advised  me  to  consider  well  before 
I  took  it. 

Of  course,  I  was  not  to  be  deterred.  I  made  instant 
preparation  for  the  journey.  My  available  wardrobe  was 
small,  being  limited  to  a  few  Perodi's  (which  in  those 
days  served  the  same  purpose  as  the  shirt-waist  of  1900) 
and  a  rusty  black  skirt,  a  veritable  war-relic;  but  my 
friends  in  Macon,  knowing  the  impossibility  of  getting 
my  own  possessions  together,  quickly  came  to  the  rescue. 
The  results  of  their  generosity  were  not  in  all  cases  strictly 
what  donor  or  recipient  might  have  wished,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  fashion  or  art.  For  example,  Mrs.  Lucius 
Mirabeau  Lamar  sent  me  a  treasured  foulard  silk  gown, 
of  a  pretty  brown  and  white  pattern ;  but  she,  being  both 
shorter  and  stouter  than  I,  the  fit  was  not  one  that  even 
the  deliberately  courteous  would  have  ventured  to  call 
a  good  one;  nevertheless,  I  received  it  gratefully  and 
courageously  adapted  it  to  serve  as  travelling  attire. 
Mrs.  William  D.  Johnston,  too,  sister  of  our  loved  General 
Tracy,  likewise  urged  a  gift  upon  me  of  several  changes 
of  Parisian  lingerie,  which  she  had  but  just  acquired. 
With  this  borrowed  finery  (which  afterward  carried  its 
own  penalty)  stowed  in  my  valise,  when  the  announce- 


256  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

ment  of  the  time  appointed  for  our  departure  came  to  us, 
it  found  me  ready. 

It  was  set  for  the  late  afternoon.  We  arrived  at  the 
railway  station  a  half-hour  before  train  time.  At  the 
last,  we  hastened  away  from  the  friends  whose  sorrow 
and  sympathy  threatened  to  disturb  the  composure  it 
was  so  necessary  to  preserve  against  our  coming  ordeals. 
We  were  surprised  to  find  the  city  in  a  kind  of  uproar. 
Cavalry  clattered  through  the  streets  and  gazing  sight- 
seers thronged  the  sidewalks.  Our  passage  to  the  station 
proceeded  without  mishap  or  adventure  of  any  kind; 
nevertheless,  we  had  scarcely  alighted  from  our  carriage 
when,  looking  back,  up  the  street  we  saw  a  company  of 
cavalrymen  approaching.  There  was  an  increasing  activ- 
ity in  the  gathered  crowds,  which  were  composed  of  silent 
citizens  of  Macon,  elbowed  by  Freedmen  and  Union 
soldiers,  who  lounged  among  them. 

As  the  cavalry  approached  the  station,  the  significance 
of  the  scene  became  plain  to  us.  They  were  a  guard, 
flanking  on  each  side  an  old  "jimber-jawed,  wobble- 
sided"  barouche,  drawn  by  two  raw-boned  horses.  In  the 
strange  vehicle  were  seated  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis.  Mr. 
Davis  was  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  Confederate  grey, 
including  the  hat,  but  his  face  was  yet  more  ashen  than 
was  his  garb.  Behind  them,  completing  the  pitiful  cor- 
tege, came  a  carryall,  in  which  were  Miss  Howell,  the 
Davis  little  ones  and  nurses;  and,  as  the  procession 
drove  by,  the  alien  and  motley  crowd  along  the  walks 
yelled  and  hooted  in  derision.  But  not  all — one 
heartless  Union  soldier  tried  the  patience  of  a  sorrowful 
"rebel"  onlooker. 

"  Hey,  Johnny  Reb,"  shouted  the  first,  "  we've  got  your 
President !  " 

"And  the  devil's  got  yours  !"  was  the  swift  reply. 

As  the  procession  arrived  at  the  station,  two  soldiers 
approached  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis,  and  escorted  them  at 


C.  C.  CLAY,  JR.,  SURRENDERS  257 

once  to  the  cars.  The  interest  of  everyone  for  the 
moment  being  centred  on  the  party  of  the  late  President, 
my  excitement  grew.  Wild  thoughts  filled  my  mind.  I 
could  not  restrain  them.  "  Oh  !  if  they  would  only  forget 
you  !  "  I  said  impetuously,  to  my  husband.  Alas  !  scarcely 
had  I  uttered  the  words  when  two  guards  approached. 
"This  is  Mr.  Clay,  I  presume?"  and  with  a  hasty  farewell 
to  our  kind  friends,  the  Whittles,  we  were  soon  aboard  the 
cars.  ■  v 

As  we  entered,  Mr.  Davis  rose  and  embraced  me.  tVv  d^ 

"This  is  a  sad  meeting,  Jennie  !"  he  said,  as  he  offered  j&  ^.  .   v^ 

me  a  seat  beside  him,  for  Mrs.  Davis  and  my  husband,       ^  *   ^■•'f^ 
already  deep  in  conversation,  had  established  themselves       ^v .  ft  "'   ft 
nearby.     As  I  seated  myself  I  became  aware  that  the  car      Vj,  <■ 
had  filled  up  with  soldiers.     I  heard  the  doors  slam,  and 
the  command,  "  Order  arms  !  "  and  in  the  dull  thud  of  their 
muskets  as  the  butts  struck  the  floor,  I  realised  for  the 
first  time  that  we  were  indeed  prisoners,  and  of  the  nation  ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

Prisoners  of  the  United  States 

Dawn  found  us  haggard  and  ill.  Our  night  ride  to 
Augusta  was  a  fatiguing  one.  Of  our  party,  only  the  chil- 
dren slept.  The  air  in  the  car  was  of  the  foulest,  and  the 
discomforts  of  the  trip  were  consequently  most  trying  to 
our  invalids,  of  whom  there  now  were  three — Mr.  Davis, 
Mr.  Clay,  and  our  venerable  Vice-President,  Mr.  Stephens, 
we  having  taken  the  latter  aboard  during  the  night ;  also, 
our  late  Postmaster-General  Reagan,  ex-Governor  Lub- 
bock, and  General  Wheeler  and  staff.  Nor  were  we  again 
permitted  to  leave  the  car  until  our  arrival  in  Augusta. 
Telegraphic  orders  having  been  sent  ahead  for  our  meals, 
these  were  brought  to  the  train  and  eaten  en  route. 

Upon  our  arrival  in  Augusta,  I  asked  Colonel  Pritchard 
for  the  privilege  of  driving  in  the  carriage  assigned  to  us  to 
the  home  of  a  beloved  friend,  Mrs.  George  Winter.  Upon 
my  promise  that  at  the  hour  appointed  I  would  be 
responsible  for  Mr.  Clay's  appearance  on  the  boat  which 
was  to  take  us  to  Savannah,  Colonel  Pritchard  gave  a 
somewhat  reluctant  consent  and  we  drove  rapidly  away. 
As  had  been  the  case  in  Macon  and  Atlanta,  the  town  was 
in  commotion.  This  visit  to  our  friends  was  almost  an 
error ;  for,  greatly  excited  at  our  appearance  among  them, 
they  embraced  us  in  hysterical  alarm,  and  begged  my  hus- 
band even  yet  to  fly.  To  add  to  the  distress,  neighbouring 
friends,  hearing  of  our  presence,  hastened  in  and  joined 
their  pleadings  to  those  of  our  hostess.  The  scene  was 
unendurable  to  Mr.  Clay,  and,  literally  tearing  ourselves 
from  their  embraces,  we  re-entered  the   carriage.      The 

258 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES       259 

horses  heads  were  turned  at  once  toward  the  river  where 
our  custodians  awaited  us.  Arrived  there,  though  I 
cannot  admit  that  it  was  our  intention  or  impulse  to  board 
the  boat  with  a  fond  alacrity,  our  embarkation  was  not 
without  a  misleading  appearance  of  eagerness.  The  bank 
of  the  river  was  both  steep  and  slippery,  and,  notwith- 
standing I  was  assisted  in  my  descent  by  two  officers,  my 
approach  was  neither  stately  nor  awe-inspiring.  In  fact, 
it  was  precipitate,  and  I  found  myself,  most  unexpectedly, 
in  the  arms  of  a  soldierly  little  figure  in  undress  uniform 
who  stood  close  to  the  crude  gang-plank.  As  I  opened  my 
lips  to  apologise  for  my  unexpected  onslaught,  he  turned 
and  raised  his  hat.     It  was  "little  Joe  !  " 

An  episode  of  that  trip  in  connection  with  General 
Wheeler  fixed  itself  indelibly  in  my  mind.  I  was  in  con- 
versation with  this  hero  on  one  occasion,  during  which  he 
leaned  against  the  side  of  the  boat  in  a  half -recumbent 
position.  Presently  a  young  officer,  rude  in  the  display 
of  "his  brief  authority,"  approached  us,  and  rapping 
General  Wheeler  sharply  with  his  sword,  said,  "It  is 
against  the  rule  to  lean  on  the  guard-rail ! ' ' 

To  my  amazement,  our  hero,  who  had  fought  so  nobly 
against  his  peers  and  whose  name  alone  had  been  a  menace 
to  his  foes,  merely  touched  his  hat  and  said  quietly,  "  I  did 
not  know  the  rule,  sir,  or  I  would  not  have  infringed  it." 
I  was  thrilled  with  admiration. 

"  General !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  you  have  taught  me  a  lesson 
in  self-control  and  courtesy  I  can  never  forget !  Had  I 
been  a  man,  that  Yankee  would  have  been  exploring  the 
bottom  of  the  Savannah  River,  or  I,  one  !  " 

The  discomforts  to  which  we  had  been  subjected  during 
our  journey  to  and  from  the  headquarters  of  General  Wil- 
son culminated  in  the  wretched  little  craft  on  which  we 
now  were.  Not  a  chair  was  in  the  cabin  for  our  invalids, 
nor  an  available  couch.  For  Mr.  Davis,  who  suffered  in- 
tensely during  the  trip  from  pain  in  his  eye  (for  years  a 


S 


260  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

chronic  disability),  two  valises  were- stacked  one  on  top  of 
the  other,  being  the  nearest  approach  to  a  seat  it  was  possi- 
ble to  improvise.  On  these  he  rested  during  much  of  the 
journey,  Mrs.  Davis,,  Miss  Howell  or  myself  in  turn  acting 
as  support  in  lieu  of  a  chair-back.  From  time  to  time  we 
bathed  his  temples  with  cologne  in  vain  attempts  to 
lessen  his  tortures. 

Our  journey  from  Savannah  may  best  be  pictured  by 
reference  to  my  pocket-diary,  carried  throughout  those 
momentous  weeks.  We  boarded  the  William  P.  Clyde  on 
the  fifteenth  of  May,  our  destination  still  unknown  to  us, 
as  we  steamed  out  into  the  Atlantic.  These  are  some  of 
the  brief  records  I  made  of  ship  and  passengers : 

"May  1 6,  1865.  William  P.  Clyde  is  a  brig-rigged  steamer, 
quite  comfortable.  The  Fourth  Michigan  is  with  us,  and  an 
armed  convoy,  the  Tuscarora,  escorts  us.  Her  guns  bear 
directly  upon  us,  day  and  night.  Fears  are  entertained  of 
the  Stonewall  or  Shenandoah.  My  husband  keeps  well  and 
heroic.     God  in  mercy  give  us  grace  for  the  fiery  ordeal." 

"May  17th.  Fairly  at  sea,  and  considerable  fear  of  the 
Stonewall  evinced  by  the  ship's  crew.  All  the  axes  of  the 
vessel  are  removed  from  their  usual  positions  to  the  Colonel's 
room.  Mrs.  Davis  sent  ashore  for  oranges  for  Miss  Howell, 
who  is  ill.      Poor  girl  !" 

["  It  was  Mr.  Davis  who  called  my  attention  to  the  removal 
of  the  battle-axes.  'Cowards!'  he  said,  'They're  afraid  of 
this  handful  of  Confederate  men  ! '  "] 

"May  19.  Nearing  Fortress  Monroe.  We  are  boarded 
by  Captain  Fraley,  Commander  of  the  Tuscarora,  the  man-of- 
war  which  has  been  our  escort,  her  guns  bearing  directly  on 
us  from  Hilton  Head.  The  Captain  called  on  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Davis,  and  husband  and  myself,  and  renewed  an  acquaintance 
of  former  years.  He  proffered  any  attentions  in  his  power. 
Just  to  our  left  is  seen  Fort  Calhoun,  built  by  Mr.  Davis, 
while  Secretary  of  War.     .     .     ." 

"May  20.  Anchored  off  Fort  Monroe  awaiting  orders. 
General   Halleck  to   arrive   on  board   at   11   a.m.     I   sadly 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES       261 

fear  they  will  land  my  darling  at  this  fort.  God  forbid !  In 
sight  are  many  vessels,  some  bearing  the  English  and  some 
the  French  flags.  The  fort  presents  the  same  appearance 
as  years  ago,  when  I  went  to  visit  the  spot.  One  week  this 
day  since  we  bade  adieu  to  friends.  Two  days  have  we 
been  anchored.     General  Halleck  said  to  be  on  Tuscarora." 

"May  21.  Last  night  at  dark  a  tug  was  hailed.  She 
replied,  "General  Halleck!"  She  was  alongside  in  a  few 
moments  with  orders  which  were  quickly  known.  Governor 
Lubbock,  Colonel  Johnston  and  General  Wheeler  and  staff 
left  at  six  this  a.  m.  for  Delaware.  At  ten,  Mr.  Stephens  and 
Judge  Reagan  were  put  aboard  the  Tuscarora  for  Fort  Warren. 
Mr.  Stephen's  servant  detained.  We  are  still  in  doubt,  but 
Monroe  is  probably  our  destination." 

"May  22.  Mr.  Davis,  Mr.  Clay  and  Burton  Harrison  are 
all  left !  Preparations  are  going  on  at  Fortress  Monroe  for 
them,  'tis  said.  Colonel  Pritchard  says  I  will  not  be  allowed 
to  land  or  go  to  Washington  or  Baltimore  or  abroad  !  !  ! 
Terrible  firing  from  a  man-of-war  !  " 

"May  23.  Wrote  letter  to  Judge  Holt,  and  note  to  General 
Miles.  At  ten  we  were  boarded  by  Major  Church,  and  two 
Yankee  women  and  four  guards,  and  all  hands,  luggage, 
berths  and  persons  thoroughly  searched.  A  'comico- 
serio-tragico  '  scene  !  Sailors  our  friends.  Both  nurses  leave. 
Mrs.  Davis's  [man]  Robert  only  left." 

Our  journey  on  the  Clyde,  though  sorrowful,  apprehen- 
sive as  we  were  concerning  the  fate  to  which  the  prisoners 
were  being  led,  was  otherwise  uneventful.  Mr.  Davis 
was  exceedingly  depressed,  and  moved  restlessly  about, 
seeming  scarcely  ever  to  desire  to  sit  down.  Always  an 
intellectual  cosmopolite,  however,  he  made  observations 
on  the  natural  phenomena  about  us,  commenting  from 
time  to  time  on  the  beauty  of  sea  or  sky.  Our  meals, 
which  were  served  at  a  table  reserved  for  the  prisoners, 
by  no  means  represented  the  fare  of  the  coastwise  steam- 
ers of  to-day,  but  few  of  us  were  in  a  mood  to  take  note  of 
culinary  deficiencies. 


262  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

On  the  morning  of  May  2 2d  a  sultry,  drizzling  rain 
fell.  It  was  a  day  exactly  calculated  to  induce  melan- 
choly even  in  the  stoutest-hearted.  To  us,  eagerly  alert 
to  learn  what  we  might  of  our  fate,  it  was  unspeakably 
distressful.  Shortly  after  breakfast  my  husband  came 
quietly  into  our  stateroom.  "There  is  no  longer  any 
doubt,"  he  said, "that  this  fort  is  the  one  destined  for 
Davis  and  me !  I  have  just  been  notified  that  we  are 
expected  to  take  a  ride  on  a  tug.  I  am  convinced  we  shall 
be  taken  to  Fortress  Monroe.  I  can't  imagine  why  they 
do  not  come  out  boldly  and  tell  us  so,  but  be  sure  this  is 
our  farewell,  my  wife  !  "  We  took  leave  of  each  other  in 
our  stateroom,  nor  did  I  leave  it  to  follow  Mr.  Clay  to  the 
deck.  I  stood,  instead,  at  the  fourteen-inch  window  of 
my  cabin,  alone  with  my  thoughts. 

As  Mr.  Davis  passed  the  aperture,  he  stopped  for  a 
second  to  say  good-bye  to  me,  then  he,  too,  disappeared. 
A  few  moments  passed,  and  then  the  weeping  of  children 
and  wailing  of  women  announced  the  return  of  the  stricken 
family.  I  heard  a  soldier  say  to  Mr.  Davis's  little  son, 
"Don't  cry,  Jeff.  They  ain't  going  to  hang  your  pa!" 
and  the  little  fellow's  reply,  made  through  his  sobs. 

"When  I  get  to  be  a  man,"  he  cried,  "I'm  going  to  kill 
every  Yankee  I  see  !  " 

When  the  child  approached  my  door  and  I  caught  him 
in  my  arms  and  tried  to  cheer  him,  his  resentment  quickly 
changed  to  a  manly  tenderness ;  and,  putting  his  baby  lips 
up  for  a  kiss,  he  said,  "My  papa  told  me  to  keep  care  of 
you  and  my  Mamma  ! ' ' 

I  referred  in  my  diary  to  the  serio-comic  incidents  of 
the  search  of  our  party.  The  event  occurred  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  day  following  that  of  my  husband's 
removal.  While  gazing  sadly  across  the  waters  toward 
the  grim  fort,  I  espied  what  seemed  to  be  a  pretty  shallop, 
dancing  lightly  over  the  waters,  in  which  were  seated  two 
women,  brightly  dressed.     The  little  vessel  seemed  to  be 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES       263 

making  for  the  Clyde.  When  I  observed  this,  I  called  Mrs. 
Davis's  attention  to  the  approaching  party,  saying, 
"  Thank  God  !  Here,  I  do  believe,  are  two  Virginia  ladies 
come  to  give  us  some  comfort." 

In  a  few  moments  one  of  our  unknown  visitors  was  at 
my  cabin  door.  In  my  eagerness  to  meet  a  friendly  face, 
I  had  almost  extended  my  hand,  when  something  in  the 
appearance  of  the  person  before  me  struck  me  as  peculiar. 
My  surprise  and  curiosity  was  soon  relieved,  for  rny  visitor 
said  glibly,  "We've  been  sent  by  the  Government  to  see 
if  you  have  any  treasonable  papers  on  board  !"  I  looked 
at  her  in  amazement. 

" Is  it  possible,"  I  asked,  "that  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment thinks  we  are  such  simpletons  as  to  have  carried 
treasonable  papers  aboard  this  ship?"  My  indignation 
grew. 

"  I  frankly  confess  that  if  I  could  sink  the  whole  Yankee 
nation  in  Hampton  Roads  I  would  do  so ;  but  carry  valua- 
ble papers  here  f  Pshaw  !"  and  I  turned  away  from  her, 
full  of  contempt. 

It  was  a  hot,  sultry  day ;  one  of  those  May  days  when 
the  sun  strikes  the  water  vertically,  and  even  breathing 
becomes  a  fatiguing  effort.  Despite  the  weather,  the 
women  who  had  thus  unexpectedly  presented  themselves 
were  greatly  overdressed.  Each  wore  an  immense 
chignon  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  was  rouged  and 
powdered  and  befrizzed  to  an  extent  that  was  altogether 
unusual  in  ordinary  circles.  Bustles  of  the  largest  size, 
high-heeled  shoes,  conspicuous  stockings,  and  as  freely 
revealed  gay  petticoats  completed  the  gaudy  costumes  of 
these  remarkable  agents  of  the  Government.  The  person 
who  had  addressed  me  entered  my  cabin  and  proceeded 
to  strip  the  pillow-case  from  the  by  no  means  immaculate 
pillow.  She  shook  and  felt  carefully  each  article  of  bed- 
ding; then  opened  my  valise  and  as  minutely  examined 
every  article  of  borrowed  finery  therein.     She  commented 


264  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

on  their  quality  as  she  did  so,  but  I  speedily  put  an  end 
to  this.  "  Proceed  with  your  work,  Madam  !  "  I  said,  and 
I  turned  from  the  unpleasant  sight  before  me. 

As  she  emptied  my  gripsack,  I  heard  her  utter  a  half- 
shriek  of  alarm. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  have  a  pistol !  " 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  I  said,  complacently  reaching  for  it 
and  taking  it  in  my  hand ;  and,  a  spirit  of  mischief  seizing 
me  (it  has  often  been  my  salvation) ,  I  twirled  the  alarming 
firearm  in  the  air,  taking  care  that  the  barrel  should 
fall  pointing  toward  her,  saying,  as  I  did  so,  "You  may 
take  everything  in  the  stateroom  but  this.  If  necessary, 
I  shall  use  it !  "  As  I  marked  the  effect  of  my  words,  her 
shrinking  and  ejaculations  of  fear  amused  me  more  and 
more,  nor  did  she  resume  her  work  until,  tired  of  the 
farce,  the  pistol  was  once  more  safely  bestowed  in  my  bag. 
When  she  renewed  her  search,  her  manner  was  somewhat 
more  timid. 

Upon  completing  the  overhauling  of  my  belongings 
she  turned  to  me.  "Will  you  please  take  off  your  dress, 
Madam  ?"  she  said.     My  answer  was  forceful  and  prompt. 

"  I  will  not !  If  you  wish  it  taken  off,  you  may  disrobe 
me  !  "  And  I  added,  in  my  indignation,  "  I've  heard  that 
white  maids  are  as  good  as  black  ones  !  " 

And  now  the  comedy  moved  rapidly.  The  lady 
began  by  taking  off  my  breastpin  and  my  collar.  She 
unfastened  my  bodice  and  removed  it,  examining  every 
seam  with  a  microscopic  care.  She  then  proceeded  to 
remove  my  clothing  piece  by  piece,  submitting  each  to 
the  same  scrupulous  examination.  Coming  at  last  to 
my  stays,  she  attempted  to  unclasp  them. 

The  situation  was  so  amusing  I  could  not  resist  the 
growing  desire  to  accentuate  it.  I  have  alluded  to  the 
prevailing  sultry  weather.  In  the  close  little  cabin, 
the  heat  was  scarce  bearable.  Already  perspiration 
was  trickling  in  streams  down  the  cheeks  of  my  unwel- 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES       265 

come  visitor.  Smiling  within  myself  as  the  lady  came 
forward  to  remove  the  last-named  garment,  I  took  a 
full,  deep  breath  and  held  it,  expanding  my  form  to  the 
very  utmost,  tightening  my  clothing  for  the  time  being 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  think  she  could  scarcely 
have  pried  open  the  garments  with  hammer  and  chisel. 
The  efforts  of  my  tormentor  (?)  were  entertaining. 
Every  now  and  then  between  a  straining  on  my  part  and 
a  futile  tugging  on  hers,  she  would  run  out  of  the  cabin, 
fanning  herself  and  gasping  to  the  guards,  "  Oh !  I  am 
nearly  dead  ! ' ' 

At  first,  I  utilised  these  intervals  "to  gird  on  my 
armour"  still  tighter;  but,  at  last,  when  I  was  myself 
almost  exhausted  from  holding  my  breath,  I  relaxed  and 
allowed  her  to  proceed.  By  the  time  her  examination 
of  my  apparel  and  belongings  was  completed,  the  lady's 
face  was  striped,  and  the  path  of  the  perspiration,  wend- 
ing its  way  through  layers  of  cosmetics,  had  quite  de- 
stroyed her  erstwhile  dazzling  appearance;  but  though 
I,  too,  was  almost  fainting  from  the  heat,  and  would 
gladly  have  been  left  alone,  my  determination  to  tease 
her  was  by  no  means  appeased.  I,  therefore,  demanded 
that,  having  undressed  me,  the  lady  complete  her  work 
and  put  my  clothing  on  again.  This,  with  various 
delays,  amusing  and  otherwise,  she  at  last  accomplished, 
much  to  her  satisfaction  if  not  wholly  to  mine.  Once 
rehabilitated,  I  stepped  to  Mrs.  Davis's  stateroom,  mine 
being  between  those  of  Mrs.  Davis  and  Miss  Howell.  I 
found  the  former  in  tears  and  reduced  to  the  lightest  of 
deshabille.  I  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  she  still  wept, 
saying : 

"Oh,   'Ginie!     What  humiliation!" 

"  But  I  would  die  before  they  should  see  me  shed 
tears!"  I  declared. 

"Ah,  you  haven't  four  little  children  about  you," 
said  Mrs.  Davis.     Nor  did  this  search  end  the  trials  that 


266  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

befell  us  while  we  lay  in  Hampton  Roads.  Upon  leaving 
my  stateroom  the  following  morning  I  met  Mrs.  Davis, 
baby  Winnie  in  arms.     She  was  greatly  agitated. 

"What  has  happened?"  I  asked. 

"That  man!"  she  replied,  pointing  to  an  officer  near 
by,  "has  come  to  take  away  my  shawl.  It's  the  last 
wrapping  I  have !  He  declares  it  is  part  of  Mr.  Davis's 
disguise  ! ' ' 

"You're  not  going  to  let  him  have  it?"  I  asked,  my 
indignation  rising  at  once. 

"What  can  I  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Davis,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"Tear  it  into  shreds  as  fine  as  vermicelli!"  I  cried, 
"and  throw  it  into  Hampton  Roads!" 

As  I  spoke  the  officer  stepped  toward  us.  Raising  his 
hand  and  shaking  his  finger  in  my  face,  he  asked,  threat- 
eningly, "  You  dare  counsel  resistance,   Madam?" 

"Yes!"  I  retorted,  returning  the  finger-shaking,  "To 
the  shedding  of  blood,  and  I'll  begin  with  you  ! " 

The  scene  must  have  been  a  ludicrous  one  to  all  save 
the  two  participants.  Mrs.  Davis's  spirits  certainly 
rose  in  contemplating  it,  for,  as  the  officer  strutted  off, 
his  sword  dragging  at  his  side,  she  smiled  as  she  said, 
"  Puss-in-boots ! "  In  a  second,  however,  her  anxiety 
returned. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked.  "He  will  surely 
come  back  for  the  shawl."  Bent  upon  foiling  him,  I 
quickly  suggested  an  expedient. 

"My  shawl,"  I  said,  "is  almost  a  counterpart  of  yours. 
Let's  fold  them  both  up  and  make  him  guess  which  is 
which.  Perhaps  he'll  take  mine!"  and  we  laughed 
heartily  at  the  device. 

It  was  not  long  ere  Lieutenant  Hudson  returned,  this 
time  with  another  shawl,  a  coarse  thing  such  as  the  small 
stores  nearby  afforded.  Upon  his  repeated  demand  we 
complacently  handed  him  Mrs.  Davis's  shawl  and  mine. 


PRISONERS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES      267 

To  our  amazement  he  took  them  both.  Then,  as  the  old 
saying  puts  it,  we  "laughed  on  the  other  side  of  our 
faces."  For,  by  the  aid  of  one  of  Mrs.  Davis's  former 
maids,  Lieutenant  Hudson  was  enabled  to  identify  Mrs. 
Davis's  shawl,  which  he  retained,  returning  mine.  The 
first,  for  many  years,  was  preserved  among  the  curios  of 
the  Smithsonian  Institution. 

During  the  morning  of  the  day  made  memorable  by 
the  visit  of  the  Government's  searching  party,  General 
Miles  and  his  staff  boarded  the  Clyde.  It  was  my  first 
meeting  with  the  handsome  young  officer  who  was 
destined  to  incur  so  much  odium  in  the  near  future  for 
his  treatment  of  the  unfortunate  ex-President  of  the 
Confederate  States.  I  can  recall  no  particulars  of  that 
first  meeting  with  my  husband's  jailor,  save  that  he  and 
his  staff  made  an  impressive  group  as  they  stood  bowing 
respectfully,  while  a  few  civil  words  were  spoken  by 
their  leader. 

Upon  the  question  of  the  latter,  as  to  whether  he 
might  serve  me  in  any  way,  I  answered,  "Yes!  let  me 
know,  from  time  to  time,  whether  my  husband  lives  or  is 
dead.  If  you  will  do  this  it  will  relieve  me  from  an  in- 
supportable suspense!"     To  this  he  kindly  agreed. 

In  the  interim,  I  had  sent  to  my  husband  his  valise, 
containing  some  gold  and  my  Bible,  which,  being  set  in 
a  specially  large  type,  I  knew  he  would  be  glad  to  have. 
These  were  brought  back  to  me  shortly  after  General 
Miles 's  visit,  by  an  officer  who  found  us  still  at  the  mess 
table.  My  Bible  was  returned  to  me  because  of  the  fol- 
lowing "communication  from  Mrs.  Clay,  written  on  the 
fly-leaf." 

"2  p.m.  Ship-board.  May,  '65.  With  tearful  eyes  and 
aching  heart,  I  commend  you,  my  precious  husband,  to  the 
care  and  keeping  of  Almighty  God.  May  He  bless  you,  and 
keep  you,  and  permit  us  once  again  to  meet,  shall  be  my 
unceasing  prayer.     Farewell,  Wife." 


268  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

As  the  officer  dropped  the  gold  upon  the  table  beside  me, 
he  said,  "  Please  count  it,  Madam  ! "  I  instantly  declined 
to  do  this,  however,  saying,  "  If  General  Miles  sent  it,  I 
presume  it  is  correct,"  and  swept  it  into  my  lap  without 
further  examination. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Return  from  Fortress  Monroe 

By  the  second  day  after  the  incarceration  of  Mr. 
Davis  and  Mr.  Clay  we  were  a  heartsick  company,  and 
I  was  glad  when,  in  the  late  afternoon  of  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  May,  our  sailing  orders  came.  During  the  last 
day  we  were  anchored  off  Fortress  Monroe,  two  hundred 
paroled  prisoners  had  been  taken  aboard  the  Clyde,  a 
small  and  stuffy  boat  at  best,  and  the  five  days  spent 
upon  the  return  trip  added  to  our  anguish  of  mind 
by  much  physical  discomfort.  The  sea  was  exceedingly 
rough.  Often  during  the  voyage  a  hundred  or  more 
passengers  at  a  time  were  confined  below.  Those  who 
were  well  found  their  cabins  unendurably  warm.  In 
mine,  the  gossip  of  the  negroes  and  sailors  on  the  lower 
deck  was  clearly  audible;  and,  as  their  themes  ran  prin- 
cipally upon  the  probable  fate  of  the  prisoners,  ques- 
tionable as  I  knew  the  source  to  be  from  which  flowed 
the  conversations,  the  gossip  did  not  serve  to  lessen  my 
melancholy,  though  it  keyed  my  alertness  to  a  higher 
pitch. 

Some  hours  previous  to  our  departure  from  Hampton 
Roads,  in  sheer  exhaustion  from  the  experiences  that  had 
crowded  upon  us,  I  lay  down  in  my  cabin,  a  prey  to 
mingled  heart-aching  and  bitterness;  when,  looking 
toward  the  door,  I  perceived  a  sentinel  on  guard.  What 
I  took  to  be  an  added  indignity  made  me  resentful.  I 
spoke  to  him. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,  standing  there  with  bayonet 
in  hand  to  terrorise  a  wretched  woman!"  I  said.     He 

269 


270  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

turned  slightly,  "Mrs.  Clay,"  he  answered,  "You  ought 
to  be  glad  to  have  me  here  guarding  you,  for  this  boat 
is  full  of  rough  soldiers ! "  In  a  moment  my  wrath  was 
turned  to  gratitude.  I  thanked  him,  and  I  felt  that  in 
him,  thereafter,  I  had  a  friend ;  indeed,  we  had  reason  to 
feel  that  all  aboard  who  dared  to  show  it  felt  pity  for 
and  kindness  toward  our  desolate  party. 

During  the  trip,  as  Mrs.  Davis,  Miss  Howell  and  I  sat 
at  night  on  deck,  looking  out  over  the  seas,  I  thought 
the  swish  of  the  waters  against  the  Clyde's  side  was  as 
melancholy  a  note  as  I  had  ever  heard.  One  evening 
we  had  sat  thus,  discussing  our  situation  and  the  dangers 
that  surrounded  us,  when,  rising  to  return  to  my  state- 
room, I  felt  my  dress  slightly  pulled.  Thinking  my 
skirts  had  become  entangled  in  the  rope  coils  or  rigging 
near  us,  I  reached  out  to  detach  them,  when,  to  my  alarm, 
I  found  my  hand  in  contact  with  another,  and  into  mine 
was  thrust  a  bundle  of  newspapers.  I  could  not  have 
thanked  the  sailor  who  handed  them  to  me  had  I  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  do  so,  for,  passing  swiftly  on  his 
way,  he  was  lost  in  the  darkness  ere  I  could  identify  him. 
The  roll  was  in  my  hand,  however,  and  I  made  my  way 
quickly  to  the  cabin  with  it.  They  were  the  first  news- 
papers wre  had  had  since  arriving  at  the  Fortress.  By 
the  light  of  the  dim  cabin  lamp  I  read  them.  The 
aggregation  of  "opinions  of  the  press"  was  so  awful  in 
its  animosity  that  they  stunned  my  very  power  of 
thought.  One  extract  burnt  itself  into  my  brain.  It 
ran,  "We  hope  soon  to  see  the  bodies  of  these  two  arch 
traitors,  Davis  and  Clay,  dangling  and  blackening  in  the 
wind  and  rain !" 

The  horror  of  these  printed  words  for  the  moment 
overbalanced  my  reason.  I  hastened  with  it  to  Mrs. 
Davis;  a  great  mistake,  for  her  agony  of  mind  upon 
reading  it  was  such  that  restoratives  were  necessary  to 
prevent  her  from  fainting.     I  never  knew  who  the  sailor 


RETURN  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE       271 

was  who  gave  the  papers  to  me,  though  I  was  more 
fortunate  in  regard  to  the  author  of  another  kindness 
which,  happily,  was  less  reactionary  upon  me. 

Immediately  upon  my  husband's  incarceration  I  had 
busied  myself  in  writing  letters  to  a  list  of  distinguished 
public  men  which  had  been  prepared  for  my  use  by  Mr. 
Clay.  It  included  the  name  of  Joseph  Holt,  who,  once 
our  friend,  had  deplored  the  possible  loss  to  the  nation 
of  my  husband's  counsels.  My  list  comprised  thirteen 
names,  the  number  that  has  been  accounted  unlucky 
since  thirteen  sat  at  the  table  of  our  Lord  and  one  be- 
trayed him.  In  view  of  the  months  of  persecution,  which 
followed  my  husband's  surrender,  directly  traceable  to 
malice  or  fanatical  zeal  in  the  Judge  Advocate's  office, 
an  analogy  is  unavoidable.  My  list  included  the  names 
of  T.  W.  Pierce,  of  Boston,  Ben.  Wood,  owner  and  editor 
of  the  New  York  Daily  News,  R.  J.  Halderman,  Charles 
O'Conor,  the  great  jurist,  Judge  Jeremiah  Black  and 
others.     To  Mr.  Holt  I  wrote  as  follows: 

"  Off  Fortress  Monroe  on  Steamer  Clyde, 

"May  23,   1865. 
"  Judge  Advocate  General  Holt. 

"  My  Dear  Sir:  The  circumstances  of  my  husband's  volun- 
tary surrender  to  the  Federal  authorities,  to  meet  the  charges 
against  him,  doubtless  have  reached  you,  as  General  Wilson, 
commanding  at  Macon,  promised  to  telegraph  as  well  as 
write  you  immediately  of  it.  We  left  Macon  on  the  13th,  in 
company  with  other  prisoners,  General  Wilson  permitting 
me  to  accompany  Mr.  Clay  without  orders  or  restrictions. 
For  five  days  we  have  lain  at  this  spot  awaiting  events. 
Yesterday  morning,  with  five  minutes'  warning  only,  my  hus- 
band was  taken  to  Fortress  Monroe.  As  no  communication 
is  permitted,  I  am  denied  appeals  to  Generals  Miles  or  Halleck, 
but  entertain  strong  hope  that  one  or  the  other  may  arrive 
to-day  to  relieve  my  suspense. 

"  But  the  object  of  this  letter  is  to  appeal  to  you,  in  this 
moment  of  dire  necessity,  on  behalf  my  dear  husband.  You, 
Judge    Holt,  now  the  embodiment  of  the   'majesty  of  the 


272  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

law,'  were  once  pleased  to  subscribe  yourself  my  'sincere 
friend.'  I  will  not  believe  that  time  or  circumstances  have 
changed  your  feelings  toward  one  who  reciprocated  that 
friendship  and  was  beloved  by  your  angelic  wife.  So,  into 
your  hands,  my  dear  sir,  I  commit  my  precious  husband's 
case,  begging  that  you  will  see  to  it  that  he  receives  proper 
counsel  and  a  fair  and  impartial  trial,  from  which  he  will 
surely  come  forth  vindicated.  Of  course,  you  have  some 
appearance  of  testimony  in  your  courts  or  the  proclamation 
would  not  have  been  issued,  but  I  also  believe  that  you  esteem 
Mr.  Clay  as  innocent  of  that  horrid  crime,  as  I  know  him  to  be. 
Hold  the  scales  of  mercy  and  justice  as  our  great  and  final 
Judge  will  hold  them  in  your  and  my  cases  when  we  stand 
at  the  Bar,  and  I  shall  fear  no  evil.  Write  me  a  line  at  Macon, 
if  you  please,  and,  if  possible,  permit  me  to  visit  my  husband. 
With  kindest  regards  to  believe  me, 

"  Etc.  " 

With  the  exception  of  the  Archbishop  of  Bermuda,  who 
was  away  from  his  post,  as  I  learned  some  time  later, 
only  Mr.  Holt,  of  the  thirteen  written  to,  ignored  my 
appeal. 

Having  taken  the  precaution  to  give  to  each  corre- 
spondent an  address  at  which,  under  cover,  replies  might 
reach  me,  I  sealed  and  addressed  each  letter  preparatory 
for  posting ;  but  now  I  found  myself  in  a  quandary  as  to 
how  I  should  accomplish  this  important  feat.  I  held 
them  for  several  days  uncertain  as  to  whose  care  I  might 
intrust  them.  As  we  were  approaching  Hilton  Head, 
however,  a  soldier,  whom  I  had  observed  passing  and  re- 
passing the  open  door  of  my  cabin,  tossed  in  a  slip  of 
paper  on  which  was  written,  "I  will  mail  your  letters. 
Trust  me."  As  there  was  nothing  treasonable  in  them, 
and  the  need  was  urgent  for  getting  them  swiftly  to  their 
several  destinations,  I  concluded  to  accept  the  offer  so 
miraculously  made. 

I  therefore  rolled  them  up,  and,  putting  a  gold  dollar 
in  a  bit  of  paper,  awaited  the  reappearance  of  my  unknown 
messenger.     In  a  few  moments  he  came,  and  I  slipped 


RETURN  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE      273 

the  little  parcel  into  his  hands.  That  afternoon  I  heard 
a  careless  whistler  pass  my  door  and  the  bit  of  gold  was 
tossed  into  my  stateroom,  and  with  excellent  aim,  too, 
for  it  fell  directly  upon  my  berth.  The  friendly  stranger 
had  refused  to  retain  sufficient  coin  to  pay  for  the  postage. 
Before  leaving  the  Clyde  I  ascertained  his  name.  He 
was  Charles  McKim,  of  Philadelphia. 

Such  kindly  aid  unexpectedly  extended  to  us  by  a 
stranger  now  and  then  had  its  own  part  in  stimulating 
and  encouraging  us  during  a  voyage  in  which  a  thousand 
hopes  and  fears  and  memories  tortured  us.  The  very 
coast-line,  there  in  the  distance,  seemed  to  write  on  the 
horizon  the  story  of  our  disasters.  We  passed  on  our 
way  within  one  hundred  yards  of  desolate,  historic 
Sumter,  over  which  the  Union  flag  floated,  and  the 
solitary  sentinel  pacing  his  rounds  was  visible  to  us. 
Deyond  lay  Charleston,  her  outlines  placid,  though  we 
knew  she  was  scarred  within. 

Our  journey,  as  I  have  stated,  was  full  of  discomfort. 
Our  cabins  were  far  from  clean,  and  chamber  service  we 
had  none  save  that  performed  by  Mrs.  Davis's  coloured 
servant,  Robert,  who  attended  to  our  needs;  and 
so  soiled  were  the  pillows  that  we  were  obliged  to  pin 
over  them  our  white  petticoats  before  retiring,  these 
being  our  only  protection  against  the  nocturnal  invaders 
that  thronged  in  the  bedding.  It  will  be  concluded, 
therefore,  that,  upon  our  arrival  in  Savannah,  we  were  a 
rather  bedraggled  and  travel-stained  party.  Our  original 
supply  of  clothing  for  the  trip  had  been  small,  and  the 
service  demanded  of  it  thus  far  had  been  in  exactly  an 
inverse  ratio.  It  required  some  courage,  therefore,  as> 
well  as  ingenuity,  to  arrange  our  toilettes  in  such  manner 
as  would  help  us  to  a  condition  of  outward  composure.  I, 
having  no  little  ones  to  care  for,  was  most  abundantly 
provided,  and  was,  therefore,  enabled  to  contribute  to 
my  less  fortunate  companion,  Mrs.  Davis,  my  black  silk 


274  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

Talma,  a  loose  garment  of  those  days  much  used  in 
travelling. 

We  heard  at  once,  upon  stepping  ashore  at  Savannah, 
that  the  Federal  authorities  had  prohibited  our  party 
the  use  of  carriages,  and  the  absence  of  friendly  faces 
at  the  wharf  told  us  that  the  date  of  our  arrival  had  also 
been  kept  a  secret.  We  were,  therefore,  obliged  to  begin 
our  walk  up  the  acclivity  that  led  to  the  Pulaski  House 
without  the  moral  support  of  a  friendly  presence.  Those 
of  the  young  children  who  could  toddle  did  so;  but  the 
infant,  Winnie,  was  carried  by  Miss  Howell,  Robert 
following  behind  with  such  luggage  as  he  could  "tote." 
We  were  a  sad  procession  S 

We  had  nearly  reached  the  hotel,  when  a  party  of 
gentlemen,  seeing  us,  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  conversa- 
tion and  eyed  us  a  second.  Among  them  were  our 
friends,  Mr.  Frederick  Myers  and  Mr.  Green.  Upon 
recognising  our  party,  first  one  and  then  another  of  the 
group  caught  up  the  children  and  bore  them  on  their 
shoulders  into  the  Pulaski  House. 

The  news  of  our  arrival  spread  over  the  city  at  once, 
and  an  impromptu  levee  was  begun  which  lasted  until 
late  in  the  night.  It  was  followed,  the  next  day,  by  gifts 
of  flowers  and  fruit,  and,  what  was  immediately  needful, 
of  clothing  of  every  description.  The  people  of  Savannah 
acted  as  by  one  great  impulse  of  generosity,  all  eager  to 
demonstrate  their  devotion  to  the  prisoners  now  in  the 
hands  of  the  United  States  Government,  and  to  us,  their 
representatives.  We  found  in  the  city  many  of  our 
former  Washington  and  Richmond  friends,  among  whom 
were  ex-Senator  Yulee,  of  Florida,  and  General  Mercer. 
Savannah  was  in  a  state  of  continual  disquiet.  The  air 
rang  with  sounds  of  fifes  and  drums  of  Federal  soldiers, 
and  bands  of  triumphant  music  were  encountered  in 
every  direction.  Drills  were  constant  and  innumerable, 
and    fully  as  unpleasant  to  our  eyes  as  our  conquerors 


RETURN  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE      275 

could  wish;  but,  to  my  Southern  mind,  no  sight  was  so 
sad,  and  none  presented  so  awful  a  travesty  on  the  sup- 
posed dignity  of  arms,  as  the  manoeuvres  of  a  regiment 
of  negroes  in  full  dress  ! 

However,  I  was  in  no  mood  to  think  resentfully  upon 
these  minor  evils  of  our  times;  for,  notwithstanding  the 
kindnesses  shown  our  party  on  every  side,  my  appre- 
hensions for  my  husband's  safety  increased  as  the  journals 
of  each  day  gave  out  their  horrors.  The  news  that  Mr. 
Davis,  saddened,  ill,  strengthless,  as  we  knew  him  to  be, 
had  been  put  in  chains,  startled  us.  Not  a  soul  in  the 
South  but  was  horrified  at  the  wanton  act,  and  none,  I 
think,  will  ever  forgive  the  deed  though  its  authorship  has 
remained  unacknowledged  to  this  day.  The  press,  both 
North  and  South,  was  filled  with  alarming  prognostications 
and  with  news  of  the  gathering  testimony  which  would 
fix  the  crime  with  which  the  ex-President  and  my  husband 
were  charged,  upon  them.  Items  which  I  might  not 
otherwise  have  seen  were  clipped  from  Northern  papers 
and  sent  to  me  by  friends  eager  to  acquaint  me  with  news 
of  every  development  which  might  warn  or  strengthen. 
From  mysterious  purlieus,  witnesses  were  being  brought 
forward  on  whose  awful  testimony  were  to  be  formulated, 
it  was  said,  charges  of  heinous  crime  against  the  prisoners 
of  state.  What  this  testimony  was  to  be,  who  was  to 
give  it,  were  mysteries  to  me.  I  tried  in  vain  to  com- 
municate with  Mr.  Clay,  and  on  the  8th  of  June,  unable 
longer  to  endure  the  suspense,  I  wrote  to  General  Miles, 
imploring  him  to  send  me  at  least  one  line  to  assure  me 
of  Mr.  Clay's  welfare ;  at  the  same  time  inclosing  a  second 
letter  to  Judge  Advocate  General  Holt. 

To  add  to  my  distress  of  mind,  the  interest  of  the 
newspapers,  being  now  concerned  with  the  Surratt  and 
other  trials,  became  silent  for  the  time  being  on  the  cases 
of  Messrs.  Davis  and  Clay,  and,  until  the  receipt  of  a  letter 
from  General  Miles,   I  was  uncertain  of  my  husband's 


276  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

whereabouts,  rumours  having  reached  me  of  his  having 
been  transferred  to  Fort  Warren.  A  letter  received  at 
this  time  from  General  James  H.  Wilson  records  that  he, 
too,  was  under  this  impression.  Waiting  from  day  to 
day  in  the  hope  of  ascertaining  some  definite  information 
concerning  Mr.  Clay,  and  having  established  communica- 
tion with  friends  in  various  quarters,  I  now  began  to  shape 
rny  plans  for  a  return  to  Hunts ville,  meanwhile  offering 
such  consolations  to  my  companions  as  was  in  my  power. 
Only  the  uncomprehending  children  of  our  party  seemed 
happily  free  from  the  weight  of  trouble  everywhere 
besetting  us.  I  remember  an  amusing  incident  in 
connection  with  the  little  Jeff.,  our  manly  protector,  just 
previous  to  my  leaving  the  hotel  to  accept  the  hospitality 
of  friends.  He  had  scarcely  arrived,  when  he  formed  an 
attachment  for  a  fine  Newfoundland  dog,  a  regular  attache 
of  the  popular  hostelry.  While  Mrs.  Davis  and  I  were 
entertaining  some  of  Savannah's  kind  people,  we  heard 
Jeff.'s  voice  shouting  every  now  and  then  in  uproarious 
good  humour,  "Bully  for  Jeff.!  Bully  for  Jeff.!"  At 
last  I  went  out  to  reason  with  him.  I  found  him  suc- 
cessfully mounted  on  his  canine  acquaintance,  a  strong 
bridle  in  one  hand,  a  switch  in  the  other. 

"  You  shouldn't  say  '  Bully  for  Jeff.,'  "  I  remonstrated. 
"  It  isn't  nice.  You  must  remember  whose  boy  you  are  ! " 
The  little  fellow  looked  nonplussed. 

"Well!"  he  said,  ruefully,  "Mis'  Clay,  if  a  fellow 
don't  bully  for  hisself,  who's  going  to  bully  for  him  ? "  I 
gazed  at  him,  puzzled.  This  was  a  Waterloo  for  me.  I 
answered,  "Well,  bully  for  yourself!  but  don't  bully  so 
loud,"  and  retreated  to  the  parlour,  leaving  the  little  lad 
to  cogitate  on  whether  he  or  I  was  master  of  the  situation. 

I  lingered  in  Savannah,  eagerly  awaiting  letters  which 
I  hoped  would  meet  me  there,  until  the  middle  of  June, 
when  I  proceeded  to  Macon,  en  route  for  Huntsville,  and 
I  am  amused  now  at  the  contrariety  of  the  human  memory, 


RETURN  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE       277 

when,  into  the  woof  of  the  thoughts  of  those  strenuous 
days,  there  is  thrust  a  thread  of  comedy.  Just  before 
leaving  the  hospitable  coast  city,  I  was  the  guest  of  Mrs. 
Levy,  mother  of  the  brilliant  Mrs.  Philip  Phillips,  of 
Washington,  of  Mrs.  Pember,  and  of  Miss  Martha  Levy, 
one  of  the  readiest  wits  I  have  ever  known. 

During  the  evening  first  referred  to,  many  guests  were 
introduced,  among  them  some  of  Savannah's  prominent 
Hebrews.  For  an  hour  Miss  Martha  had  been  busy 
presenting  her  friends,  both  Christian  and  Jew,  when, 
one  after  another,  came  Mr.  Cohen,  Mr.  Salomon,  Dr. 
Lazarus  and  Dr.  Mordecai.  At  this  remarkable  pro- 
cession my  risibles  proved  triumphant.  I  glanced  slyly 
at  Miss  Martha.  Her  eyes  shone  with  mischief  as  she 
presented  Dr.  Mordecai. 

"And  is  Haman  here,  too?"  I  asked. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
Reconstruction  Days  Begin 

Upon  leaving  Savannah  I  proceeded  by  boat  to  Augusta, 
reaching  that  city  on  the  fifteenth  of  June,  going  thence 
to  Macon,  escorted  to  Atlanta  by  Colonel  Woods.  During 
the  last  half  of  my  journey  I  was  under  the  care  of 
General  B.  M.  Thomas,  who  saw  me  safely  into  the  hands 
of  our  kind  friends,  the  Whittles,  whose  hospitable  home 
became  my  asylum  until  I  proceeded  on  my  way  to 
Hunts  ville.  The  necessity  for  procuring  passports 
through  the  several  military  districts  made  my  journey 
a  slow  one.  To  add  to  my  discomforts,  my  trunks, 
recovered  at  Macon,  were  several  times  rigorously 
searched  ere  I  reached  my  destination.  At  every  transfer 
station  my  baggage  was  carefully  scrutinised,  and  the 
small  value  in  which  passports  were  held  may  be  con- 
jectured from  the  following  incident. 

At  a  certain  point  in  my  homeward  journey  a  change 
of  cars  became  necessary  at  a  little  wayside  town.  Night 
was  already  upon  us  when  we  reached  the  station  of 
Crutchfield,  where  the  transfer  was  to  be  made.  The 
little  structure  was  surrounded  by  hangers-on,  threading 
their  lazy  way  through  a  small  company  of  black  and 
white  soldiers.  I  was  alone,  save  for  the  little  five-year- 
old  son  of  my  maid,  Emily,  who,  being  ill,  I  had  left  at 
the  home  of  Mrs.  Whittle.  No  sooner  had  my  trunk 
been  deposited  on  the  platform  than  it  became  the  object 
of  rough  handling  and  contumely.  The  train  on  which 
I  was  to  continue  my  journey  was  already  in  position,  but 
the  close-pressing  crowd  about  were  heedless  alike  of  my 

278 


RECONSTRUCTION  DAYS  BEGIN  279 

protest  and  appeals  to  allow  my  baggage  to  be  put 
aboard.  I  begged  them  not  to  detain  me,  saying  I  had 
General  Croxton's  passport  with  me ;  but  their  only  answer 
was  a  gruff  rebuke.  "  You  have  passed  his  jurisdiction, 
Madam,"  said  one  of  the  military  near  by. 

It  was  a  black  night,  and  but  few  of  those  about  me 
carried  lanterns.  The  scene  was  fear-inspiring  to  a 
lonely  woman.  My  alarm  at  the  thought  of  a  detention 
had  reached  its  height,  when,  by  the  fitful  lights  about, 
I  saw  a  tall  young  man  break  through  the  crowd. 

"By  what  right  do  you  detain  this  lady?"  he  cried, 
angrily.  Then,  turning  to  the  black  figures  around  us, 
he  commanded,  "  Put  that  trunk  on  board  the  car  !"  and 
almost  before  I  realised  it  my  difficulties  were  over,  and 
I  had  myself  stepped  aboard  the  waiting  train,  rescued 
from  my  unfortunate  dilemma  by  John  A.  Wyeth,  since 
become  a  surgeon  of  national  distinction.  Mr.  Wyeth 
had  come  to  the  station  for  the  purpose  of  boarding  this 
train,  which  proved  a  happy  circumstance,  for  it  gave 
me  his  protection  to  Stevenson,  a  few  hours  distant 
from  Huntsville.  His  father  had  been  the  long-time 
friend  of  my  husband;  moreover,  Dr.  Allen,  grandfather 
of  the  young  knight-errant,  had  been  one  of  Senator 
Clay's  earliest  instructors.  Thus,  the  circumstance  of 
our  meeting  was  a  source  of  double  gratification  to  me. 

While  a  guest  at  the  home  of  Colonel  Lewis  M.  Whittle, 
being  unceasing  in  my  efforts  to  secure  all  possible  aid  for 
and  to  arouse  our  friends  in  behalf  of  my  husband,  I  made 
several  trips  of  a  day  or  so  to  other  homes  in  the  vicinity. 
During  such  an  absence,  the  Whittle  home  was  invaded 
by  a  party  of  soldiers,  headed  by  one  General  Baker,  who 
made  what  was  meant  to  be  a  very  thorough  search  of 
all  my  belongings,  despite  the  protests  of  my  gentle 
hostess.  But  for  her  quick  presence  of  mind  in  sending 
for  a  locksmith,  the  locks  of  my  trunks  would  have  been 
broken  open  by  the  ungallant  invaders.     I  returned  to 


28o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

find  my  friends  in  deep  trouble  and  anguish  of  mind  on 
my  behalf.  They  repeated  the  story  of  the  search  with 
much  distress  of  manner.  From  the  disorder  in  which 
I  found  my  room  when,  shortly  afterward,  I  entered  it, 
these  agents  of  the  Government  must  have  hoped  to  find 
there  the  whole  assassination  plot.  Clothing  of  every 
description  was  strewn  over  the  floor  and  bed  and  chairs ; 
while  on  mantelpiece  and  tables  were  half-smoked  cigar 
stumps  and  ashes  left  by  the  gentlemen  who  took  part 
in  that  memorable  paper  hunt.  After  a  thorough  ex- 
amination of  my  wardrobe,  piece  by  piece,  they  had 
taken  possession  of  numerous  letters  and  photographs, 
almost  purely  of  a  private  character,  among  them  the 
picture  of  my  dead  infant,  treasured  beyond  any  other. 
My  hostess  informed  me  that,  during  the  process  of 
searching,  General  Baker,  regardless  of  her  presence, 
personally  had  commented  on  the  quality  of  my  lingerie 
and  the  probable  avoirdupois  of  its  owner,  saying,  among 
other  things,  "  I  see  none  of  the  destitution  I've  heard 
tell  of  in  the  South  !"  In  his  eagerness  to  discourse  on 
the  beauty  of  a  lady's  apparel,  he  overlooked  a  recess  in 
one  of  my  trunks  which  contained  the  only  written  matter 
that,  by  any  turning  of  words,  might  have  been  desig- 
nated treasonable. 

Great,  indeed,  was  my  surprise,  when,  seated  on  the 
floor  surveying  the  disorder  about,  overwhelmed  with 
a  conviction  of  desolation  to  come,  I  opened  one  secret 
little  slide  and  looked  within  the  pocket.  Now  my 
chagrin  and  disappointment  were  changed  to  joy;  for 
there,  within,  lay  the  sermon-like,  black-covered  book 
that  contained  my  husband's  careful  copies  of  his  State 
correspondence  while  in  Canada,  together  with  other 
important  original  papers  !  The  sight  was  almost  too 
good  to  be  true !  Immediately  I  began  to  see  all  things 
more  hopefully.  I  remember  even  a  feeling  of  merriment 
as  I  gazed  upon  one  of  my  husband's  boots  standing 


RECONSTRUCTION  DAYS  BEGIN  281 

just  where  it  had  been  thrown,  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  while  hung  around  it  was  a  wreath  of  once  gorgeous 
pomegranate  flowers,  which  I  recognised  as  those  I  had 
worn  at  one  of  the  last  functions  I  had  attended  in  the 
Federal  City. 

Many  months  passed,  in  which  repeated  demands  were 
made  for  the  letters  carried  away  by  these  emissaries  of 
the  Government,  ere  they  were  returned  to  me.  Though 
taken  thus  forcibly  from  me  for  Governmental  examina- 
tion, I  have  no  reason  to  conclude  that  those  in  authority 
at  the  War  Department  detained  them  for  so  serious  a 
reason  or  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  ground  for 
believing  that  my  letters  and  other  possessions  lay  open 
for  seven  or  eight  months  to  the  gaze  of  the  more  curious 
friends  of  the  department  authorities;  for,  my  friend, 
Mrs.  Bouligny,*  early  in  '66,  wrote  warning  me  in  regard 
to  them,  "I  heard  a  lady  say  the  other  day  that  she 
knew  of  a  person  who  had  read  your  journal  at  the  War 
Department !"  By  this  time  I  was  again  in  the  North, 
pleading  with  President  Johnson  for  the  release  of  my 
husband  and  the  return  of  my  papers.  When,  at  last,  I 
received  them,  they  were  delivered  to  me  at  the  home  of 
Mrs.  A.  S.  Parker,  at  4.4  and  C  Streets,  Washington,  by  a 
Federal  officer,  who  came  in  a  United  States  Mail  wagon 
with  his  burden ! 

My  home-coming  after  the  eventful  trip  to  Fortress 
Monroe  was  a  sore  trial.  Ex-Governor  Clay,  now  an  old 
man  of  seventy-five  years,  and  Mrs.  Clay,  almost  as  aged 
(and  nearer,  by  six  months,  to  the  grave,  as  events  soon 
proved),  were  both  very  much  broken.  For  more  than 
three  years  they  had  waited  and  wept  and  prayed  for 
the  loved  cause  which,  in  its  fall,  had  borne  down  their 
first-born.  The  Clay  home,  every  stone  of  which  was 
hallowed  to  them,  was  now  occupied  by  Captain  Peabody 

*  Then  widow  of  Congressman  Bouligny,  of  Louisiana,  and  now  Mrs. 
George  Collins  Levey,  of  London,  England. 


282  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

and  his  staff.  Servants  and  all  other  of  their  former 
possessions  were  scattered;  and  Mother  Clay,  whose 
beautiful  patrician  hands  had  never  known  the  soil  of 
labour,  who,  throughout  her  long  life  of  piety  and  gentle 
surroundings,  had  been  shielded  as  tenderly  as  some  rare 
blossom,  now,  an  aged  woman,  within  but  a  few  months 
of  the  tomb,  bereft  of  even  her  children,  was  compelled 
to  perform  all  necessary  household  labour.  The  last' 
and  bitterest  pain,  that  of  my  husband's  incarceration, 
fell  crushingly  upon  her.  Her  son,  who  had  added 
lustre  to  his  distinguished  father's  name,  who  in  private 
virtues  had  met  every  wish  of  her  heart,  now  lay  a  prisoner 
in  the  nation's  hands,  and  the  nation  itself  had  gone  mad 
with  the  desire  to  wreak  a  vengeance  on  some  one  for 
the  deplorable  act  of  a  madman.  The  knowledge  came 
to  her  as  a  very  death-dealing  blow,  the  climax  of  years  of 
unintermitting  anxiety,  deprivations,  and  the  small 
tyrannies  practised  by  our  many  invaders  during  the 
investment  of  Huntsville.  Friends  and  kindred  had 
been  cut  down  on  every  side.  For  three  years  our  little 
city  had  been  in  Union  hands.  None  of  her  formerly 
affluent  citizens  but  had  been  impoverished  or  ruined. 
By  the  summer  of  '65,  the  country  about  was  completely 
devastated. 

The  crops  were  inconsiderable;  scarcely  any  cotton 
had  been  planted,  and  the  appalling  cotton  tax  had 
already  been  invented  to  drain  us  still  further.  All  over 
the  South  "Reconstruction  days"  had  begun.  Con- 
fusion of  a  kind  reigned  in  every  town  or  city.  It  was 
no  longer  a  question  of  equality  between  the  Freedmen 
and  their  late  masters,  but  of  negro  supremacy.  On 
every  side  the  poor,  unknowing  creatures  sought  every 
opportunity  to  impress  the  fact  of  their  independence 
upon  all  against  whom  they  bore  resentment.  The 
women  were  wont  to  gather  on  the  sidewalks  of  the 
main    thoroughfares,    forming    a    line    across    as    they 


RECONSTRUCTION  DAYS  BEGIN  283 

sauntered  along,  compelling  their  former  masters  and 
mistresses  who  happened  to  be  approaching  to  take  the 
street;  or,  if  not  sufficiently  numerous  or  courageous  to 
do  this,  would  push  their  way  by  them,  bumping  into 
them  with  a  distinct  challenge  to  the  outraged  one  to 
resent  it.  As  if  to  encourage  this  spirit  of  "  independence, ' ' 
the  agents  of  the  conquering  Government  were  there  to 
protect  their  proteges  from  the  indignant  resentment 
such  conduct  might  well  awaken,  though  they  seemed 
not  to  be  equipped  to  instruct  them  in  better  things. 

Upon  my  return  to  Huntsville,  after  Mr.  Clay's  incar- 
ceration, having  been  absent  from  it  now  nearly  four 
years,  I  found  the  metamorphosis  in  the  beautiful  old 
town  to  be  complete.  Indignation  at  the  desecration 
about  us  was  the  one  antidote  to  despair  left  to  the 
majority  of  our  neighbours,  who,  their  property  seized, 
their  fields  unplanted,  their  purses  empty,  had  small 
present  peace  or  ground  for  hope  in  the  future.  Indig- 
nities, petty  and  great,  multiplied  each  day  at  the 
hands  of  often  wholly  inexperienced  Federal  representa- 
tives, who,  finding  themselves  in  authority  over  the  persons 
and  property  of  men  distinguished  throughout  the  land, 
knew  not  how  to  exercise  it.  Looking  back  upon  those 
frightful  years,  I  am  convinced  that  these  agents,  far  more 
than  our  enemies  who  strove  with  our  heroes  upon  the 
field,  are  responsible  for  a  transmitted  resentment  that 
was  founded  upon  the  unspeakable  horrors  of  "  Recon- 
struction days."  Happy,  indeed,  was  it  for  us  that  the 
future  was  hidden  from  us;  for,  bad  as  the  conditions 
were  that  met  my  husband's  family  then,  there  were  to 
be  yet  other  and  worse  developments.  Our  home, 
opposite  to  that  of  Governor  Clay,  was  now  occupied  by 
one  Goodlow,  head  of  the  Freedmen's  Bureau.  From 
the  one  wing  of  the  parental  house  to  which  ex-Governor 
and  Mrs.  Clay  were  now  limited,  only  the  sorry  sight  met 
our  eyes  of  the  desecration  of  our  once  lovely  residence, 


284  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

— the  galleries  and  portico  of  which  were  now  the  gathering 
place  for  proteges  of  the  Government.  Daily  I  saw 
Alfred,  the  former  dining-room  servant  of  Governor 
Clay,  revelling  in  his  newly  acquired  liberty,  dash  by  our 
dwelling,  seated  in  a  handsome  buggy  behind  a  fine 
trotter.  He  was  a  handsome  copper-coloured  negro, 
with  the  blood  of  red  men  in  his  veins.  His  yellow 
gauntlets  were  conspicuous  two  streets  away,  and  as  he 
passed  he  left  on  the  evening  air  the  odour  of  the  Jessa- 
mine pomade  with  which  he  had  saturated  his  straight 
Indian  locks  in  his  effort  to  outdo  his  late  master. 

Poor  Alfred  !  He  was  a.  child  with  a  toy  balloon.  A 
few  years  passed.  In  tattered  attire,  and  with  the 
humblest  demeanor,  he  eked  out  a  scanty  living  at  a 
meagre  little  luncheon-stand  on  the  corner  of  a  thorough- 
fare. His  former  respect  and  regard  for  his  old  master 
now  returned,  and  with  it,  I  doubt  not,  a  longing  for 
the  days  when,  in  his  fresh  linen  suits,  laundered  by  the 
laundress  of  the  Governor's  household,  a  valued  servant, 
he  had  feasted  on  the  good  things  he  himself  had  assisted 
in  concocting  ! 

Ground  to  the  earth  as  we  were  by  the  cruelties  of 
the  times,  that  Freedman's  Bureau  was  frequently, 
nevertheless,  a  source  of  amusement.  Its  name  bore 
but  one  meaning  to  the  simple-minded  follower  of  the 
mule-tail  who  appealed  to  it.  He  knew  but  one  "  bureau  " 
in  the  world,  and  that  was  "ole  Missus's"  or  "Mis' 
Mary's,"  an  unapproachable  piece  of  furniture  with  a 
given  number  of  drawers.  Bitter  was  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  innocent  blacks  when  they  failed  to  see 
the  source  whence  came  their  support. 

"  Whar's  dat  bureau  ? "  was  sure  to  be  the  first  question. 
"  Whar  all  dem  drawers  what  got  de  money  an'  de  sugar 
an'  de  coffee?  God  knows  I  neber  see  no  bureau  't  all, 
an'  dat  man  at  de  book-cupboard  *  talked  mighty  short 
ter  me,  at  dat !" 

*  Desk. 


RECONSTRUCTION  DAYS  BEGIN  285 

While  letting  my  thoughts  linger  for  a  moment  on  those 
dreary  days,  I  cannot  refrain  from  recalling  one  of  the 
occasional  instances  of  humane  conduct  shown  us  by  those 
placed  in  authority  over  the  citizens  of  Huntsville,  asso- 
ciated, as  it  is,  with  a  bit  of  genuine  negro  blundering. 
The  generosity  of  Dr.  French,  Medical  Director,  there 
stationed,  toward  the  family  of  our  brother,  J.  Withers 
Clay,  in  giving  his  medical  services  freely  to  them,  greatly 
touched  us  all.  Appreciating  his  obvious  desire  to  admin- 
ister to  our  wounded  spirits  a  true  "  oil  and  wine,"  my  sis- 
ter one  morning  gathered  a  bunch  of  fragrant  camomile 
blossoms,  and,  calling  her  ebony  femme  de  menage  to  her, 
she  said,  "Take  these  flowers  over  to  Dr.  French  and 
say  Mrs.  Clay  sends  them  with  her  compliments.  Tell 
him  that  these  camomile  blossoms  are  like  the  Southern 
ladies — the  more  they  are  bruised  and  oppressed  the 
sweeter  and  stronger  they  grow  !  Now,"  she  added,  "  tell 
me,  Sally,  what  are  you  going  to  say?"  Sally  answered 
promptly : 

"  I'se  gwine  tell  de  doctor  dat  Mis'  Mary  Clay  sont  her 
compliments  an'  dese  cammile  flowers,  an'  says  dey's  like 
de  Southern  ladies,  de  harder  you  squeezes  an'  presses 
'em  de  sweeter  dey  gits  !  " 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  relate  that  the  message 
which  reached  the  kind  doctor  was  put  in  written  form. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

News  from  Fortress  Monroe 

To  minister  to  my  husband's  aged  parents  dulled  in  some 
degree  my  own  alarms,  yet  the  wildest  rumours  continued 
to  multiply  as  to  the  probably  early  trial  and  certainly 
awful  fate  of  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay.  Controversies 
were  waging  in  the  press,  both  condemning  and  approving 
the  actions  of  the  Military  Commission  in  Washington; 
yet,  even  in  those  still  early  days  of  his  imprisonment, 
voices  were  raised  in  many  localities  to  declare  Mr.  Clay's 
incapability  of  the  crimes  imputed  to  him.* 

Meantime,  reputable  men  in  Canada,  who  adduced  in- 
dubitable proof  of  the  truth  of  the  accusations  they  made, 
had  already  assailed  the  characters  of  the  witnesses  upon 
whom  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice  so  openly  relied  to 
convict  its  distinguished  prisoners — witnesses  by  whose 
testimony  some  had  already  perished  on  the  gallows.  How 
true  these  accusations  were  was  proved  a  year  later,  when, 
his  misdoings  exposed  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, a  self-confessed  perjurer,  Conover,  the  chief 
reliance  of  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice,  the  chief  accuser 
of  my  husband,  fled  the  country.  At  this  denouement, 
Representative  Rogers  openly  averred  his  belief  that  the 
flight  of  Conover,  one  of  the  most  audacious  of  modern 
criminals,  had  been  assisted  by  some  one  high  in  author- 
ity, in  order  to  make  impossible  an  investigation  into  the 
disgraceful  culpability  of  the  high  unknown  ! 

*  "It  were  as  easy,"  wrote  one  editor,  "to  suspect  General  Lee  of 
duplicity,  or  General  Butler  of  magnanimity,  as  to  think  Mr.  Clay 
guilty  of  the  crimes  imputed  to  him  !" 

286 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         287 

So  early  as  June  10,  1865,  a  pamphlet  had  been  printed 
and  circulated  throughout  the  country  by  the  Rev.  Stuart 
Robinson,  exposing  seriatim  the  "  Infamous  Perjuries  of 
the  Bureau  of  the  Military  Justice."  It  took  the  form  of  a 
letter  to  the  Hon.  H.  H.  Emmons,  United  States  District- 
Attorney  at  Detroit,  and  was  quoted,  when  not  printed 
in  full,  by  many  leading  newspapers.  Throughout  the 
closely  printed  pages  the  paper  presented  an  expose  of  the 
unworthy  character  of  the  most  prominent  witnesses  on 
whose  testimony  the  hapless  Mrs.  Surratt  and  her  com- 
panions had  been  condemned  to  the  gallows;  witnesses, 
moreover,  who  were  known  to  be  the  accusers  of  Mr.  Davis 
and  Mr.  Clay,  who,  it  was  announced,  were  soon  to  be  tried 
for  complicity  in  the  murder  of  the  late  Federal  President. 
In  his  pamphlet,  Mr.  Robinson  did  not  content  himself 
with  refuting  the  statements  made  by  the  miscreant  wit- 
nesses. He  went  further  and  accused  Mr.  Holt  (by 
name),  head  of  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice,  of  being 
particeps  criminis  with  the  evil  men  whose  testimony  he 
so  credulously  or  maliciously  employed. 

"If  any  one  supposes,"  wrote  Mr.  Robinson,  "I  have 
judged  Mr.  Holt  uncharitably  in  making  him  particeps 
criminis  with  this  villain" — a  notorious  witness — "whom 
he  parades  and  assists  in  the  work  of  lying  himself  out  of 
his  previous  perjuries  by  still  more  preposterous  lies,  let 
him  carefully  ponder  this  letter.  .  .  .  This  is  the  man 
whom  Judge  Advocate  Holt,  after  his  perjuries  have  been 
exposed,  brings  back  to  the  stand  and  assists  in  his 
attempts  to  force  his  lies  down  the  throat  of  the  American 
people.  Who  now,"  Mr.  Robinson  continued,  "is  the 
base  criminal — Judge  Holt,  or  the  men  whom  he  seeks  by 
such  base  and  impudent  perjuries,  under  the  garb  of  sworn 
testimony,  to  defame?" 

Such  a  brave  challenge  might  well  have  been  expected 
to  give  the  Government  pause.  To  the  increased  agony 
of  our  minds,  its  agents  took  no  cognisance  of  Mr.  Robin- 


288  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

son's  fearless  exposure,  but  ignored  the  protest  with  its 
startling  array  of  charges,  which  easily  might  have  been 
verified,  and  continued  to  rely  upon  its  strange  allies  to 
assist  in  the  persecution  of  its  prison  victims. 

Instinct  with  the  zeal  of  the  fanatic,  and  intrenched 
behind  the  bewildered  Mr.  Johnson,  the  Head  of  the  Bureau 
of  Military  Justice  was  indifferent  alike  to  contumely  and 
the  appeals  of  even  the  merely  just.  In  so  far  as  the  coun- 
try at  large  might  see,  its  Judge  Advocate  was  imperial  in 
his  powers.  The  legality  of  the  existence  of  the  Bureau 
had  been  denied  by  the  greatest  jurists  of  the  times ;  yet 
its  dominating  spirit  was  determined,  despite  the  gravest 
warnings  and  condemnation,  to  railroad,  by  secret  trial, 
the  more  distinguished  of  the  prisoners  to  the  gallows. 
"Thoughtful  men,"  Reverdy  Johnson  had  said  in  his 
argument  in  the  trial  of  Mrs.  Surratt,  "  feel  aggrieved  that 
such  a  Commission  should  be  established  in  this  free  coun- 
try when  the  war  is  over,  and  when  the  common  law 
courts  are  open  and  accessible.  Innocent  parties,  some- 
times by  private  malice,  sometimes  for  a  mere  partisan 
purpose,  sometimes  from  a  supposed  public  policy,  have 
been  made  the  subjects  of  criminal  accusation.  History 
is  full  of  such  instances.  How  are  such  parties  to  be  pro- 
tected if  a  public  trial  be  denied  them,  and  a  secret  one  in 
whole  or  in  part  be  substituted?" 

"The  Judge  Advocate  said,  in  reply  to  my  inquiries," 
said  Thomas  Ewing,  "that  he  wrould  expect  to  convict 
under  the  common  law  of  war.  This  is  a  term  unknown  to 
our  language,  a  quiddity  incapable  of  definition."  And, 
again,  "The  Judge  Advocate,  with  whom  chiefly  rests  the 
fate  of  these  citizens,  from  his  position  cannot  be  an 
impartial  judge  unless  he  be  more  than  man.  He  is  the 
Prosecutor  in  the  most  extended  sense  of  the  word.  As 
in  duty  bound  before  this  court  was  called,  he  received  the 
reports  of  detectives,  pre-examined  the  witnesses,  pre- 
pared and  officially  signed  the  charges,  and,  as  principal 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         289 

counsel  for  the  Government,  controlled  on  the  trial  the 
presentation,  admission  and  rejection  of  evidence.  In 
our  courts  of  law,  a  lawyer  who  heard  his  client's  story,  if 
transferred  from  the  bar  to  the  bench,  may  not  sit  in  the 
trial  of  the  cause,  lest  the  ermine  be  sullied  through  the 
partiality  of  the  counsel." 

To  our  sad  household  at  distant  Huntsville,  each  day, 
with  its  disquieting  rumours  and  reports  of  these  trials, 
added  to  our  distress  of  mind.  There  was  scarcely  a  man 
or  woman  in  the  South  who  did  not  prophesy  that,  the 
popular  cry  being  "Vengeance,"  and  full  military  power 
in  the  hands  of  such  men  as  Stanton  and  Holt,  our  former 
President  and  Mr.  Clay  would  surely  meet  the  fate  of  Mrs. 
Surratt. 

Under  the  domination  of  such  knowledge,  my  condition 
of  mind  was  a  desperate  one.  We  were  nearly  a  thousand 
miles  removed  from  the  seat  of  Government  and  from  my 
husband's  prison.  The  Bureau  of  Military  Justice,  it  was 
well  known,  was  industriously  seeking  to  convict  its 
prisoners ;  while  the  latter,  ignorant  even  of  the  charges 
against  them,  and  denied  the  visits  of  counsel  or  friends, 
were  helpless  to  defend  themselves,  however  easy  to  obtain 
the  proof  might  be.  It  were  impossible  for  a  wife,  know- 
ing her  husband  to  be  innocent,  and  resenting  the  ignoble- 
ness  of  a  government  which  would  thus  refuse  to  a  self- 
surrendered  prisoner  the  courtesies  the  law  allows  to  the 
lowest  of  criminals,  to  rest  passively  under  conditions  so 
alarming. 

From  the  moment  I  stepped  upon  the  soil  of  Georgia  I 
renewed  my  appeals  to  those  in  the  North  of  whose  regard 
for  my  husband  I  felt  assured.  Among  the  first  to  respond 
were  Charles  O 'Conor,  of  New  York,  T.  W.  Pierce,  of 
Boston,  R.  J.  Haldeman,  and  Benjamin  Wood,  editor  and 
proprietor  of  the  New  York  Daily  News.  Mr.  Wood  wrote 
spontaneously : 

"  I  beg  you  to  have  full  faith  in  my  desire  and  exertions 


29o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  relieve  your  noble  husband  from  persecution,  and  to 
secure  for  him  a  prompt  and  impartial  trial,  and  conse- 
quently an  inevitable  acquittal  of  the  charge  that  has 
been  infamously  alleged  against  him.  I  will  communicate 
immediately  with  Mr.  O 'Conor,  Mr.  Carlisle,  Mr.  Franklin 
Pierce,  and  Judge  Black.  Let  me  request  you  to  accord 
me  the  pleasure  of  advancing  to  Mr.  Clay,  until  his  libera- 
tion, whatever  sum  may  be  necessary  for  the  expenses 
attendant  upon  legal  action  for  his  defense,  as,  owing  to 
his  imprisonment  and  the  present  unsettled  condition  of 
your  neighbourhood,  there  might  be  a  delay  that  would 
prove  prejudicial  to  his  interests." 

"  I  have  no  idea  he  will  be  brought  to  trial,"  wrote  Mr. 
Pierce,  on  June  16th,  "  as  the  evidence  on  which  the  Gov- 
ernment relies  is  a  tissue  of  wicked  fabrication,  from  the 
perjured  lips  of  the  lowest  upon  the  earth  !  No  one  who 
knows  him  (Mr.  Clay)  can  for  a  moment  believe  him  guilty 
or  even  capable  of  crime.  I  have  written  to  Judge  Black 
and  requested  him  to  make  effort  to  have  you  come  to 
the  North.  I  hope  your  application  to  Judge  Holt*  will 
secure  for  you  this  liberty." 

Mr.  O'Conor's  letter  ran  as  follows: 

"New  York,  June  29,   1865. 

"My  Dear  Madam:  I  do  not  believe  that  any  attempt 
will  be  made  to  try  Mr.  Clay  or  any  other  of  the  leading 
Southern  gentlemen  on  the  charge  of  complicity  in  the  assas- 
sination f  of  Lincoln. 

"Such  of  them  as  have,  through  mistaken  confidence  in 
the  magnanimity  of  their  enemies,  surrendered  themselves 
into  custody,  may  be  obliged  to  suffer  imprisonment,  until 
it  shall  be  determined,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  whether  they 
ought  to  be  tried  for  treason. 

*  Neither  this  application,  nor  any  communication  sent  by  Mrs.  Clay 
to  Judge  Holt,  met  with  the  recognition  of  acknowledgment.     A.  S. 

t  A  reference  to  Holt's  Report,  dated  December  8,  1865,  will  show 
how  little  either  Mr.  Pierce  or  this  great  legal  light  apprehended  the 
audacity  of  the  inquisitorial  Military  Commission,  of  which  the  Secre- 
tary of  War  and  Joseph  Holt  made  two.     A.  S. 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE  291 

"Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  is,  of  course,  the  first  victim  de- 
manded by  those  who  demand  State  prosecutions.  His  will 
be  the  test  case.  ...  I  have  volunteered  my  professional 
services  in  his  defense,  and  although  I  have  hitherto  been 
refused  permission  to  see  him,  and  his  letter  in  reply  to  my 
offer  has  been  intercepted  and  returned  to  him  as  an  improper 
communication,  I  am  persuaded  that,  if  atrial  shall  take  place, 
I  will  be  one  of  his  defenders.  In  performing  this  duty,  you 
may  fairly  consider  me  as  in  compliance  with  your  request, 
defending  your  husband.  ...  I  sympathise  most  sin- 
cerely with  yourself  and  your  husband  in  this  cruel  ordeal, 
and  shall  be  most  happy  if  my  efforts  shall  have  any  influence 
in  mitigating  its  severity  or  in  shortening  its  duration. 

"I  am,  my  dear  Madam,  with  great  respect  and  esteem, 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Charles  O'Conor." 

This  epistle,  coming  from  so  wise  a  man,  was  calculated 
to  calm  us ;  one  from  Mr.  Haldeman  inspired  us  equally 
to  courage. 

"  Harrisburg,  July  24,  1865. 
"Mrs.  C.  C.  Clay. 

"My  Dear  Madam:  Your  exceedingly  affecting  letter 
did  not  reach  me  until  long  after  it  was  written. 
So  soon  as  it  was  practicable,  I  visited  Honourable  Thaddeus 
Stevens  at  his  home  in  Lancaster  City.  I  selected  Mr. 
Stevens  more  particularly  on  account  of  his  independence 
of  character,  his  courage,  and  his  position  of  intellectual  and 
official  leadership  in  the  lower  house  of  Congress,  and  in  his 
party.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you,  Madam,  that, 
knowing  your  husband,  I  never  had  a  suspicion  of  his  com- 
plicity in  the  assassination  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  but  you  will  be 
gratified  to  learn  that  Mr.  Stevens  scorned  the  idea  of  either 
his  guilt  or  that  of  any  of  the  prominent  sojourners  in  Canada.* 

"Mr.  Stevens  holds,  that  as  the  belligerent  character  of 
the  Southern  States  was  recognised  by  the  United  States, 
neither  Mr.  Davis  nor  Mr.  Clay  can  be  tried  for  treason. 
That,  if  tried,  Mr.  Clay  should  be  tried  in  Alabama.  You 
will  perceive,  then,  my  dear  Madam,  that  connected  with  the 
proposed  trial  of  your  husband,  there  are  profound  questions 

*  Several  years  later  Mr.  Stevens  reiterated  these  statements  to  one 
of  the  editors  of  the  New  York  Tribune,  who  again  quoted  Mr.  Stevens's 
remarks  in  an  able  editorial.     A.  S. 


292  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

of  statesmanship  and  party.  On  this  account,  Mr.  S.  would 
not  like  to  have  his  name  prematurely  mentioned.  He  is 
using  his  great  political  influence  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  it  is,  of  course,  much  greater  when  he  is  not  known  as 
the  counsel  of  Mr.  Clay.  ...  I  promised  to  see  Mr. 
Stevens  so  soon  as  the  form  and  place  of  trial  are  announced. 
.  Mr.  Stevens  will  be  a  tower  of  strength,  and  com- 
mand attention  and  respect  from  President,  Secretary  and 
Congress. 

"Hoping,  Madam,  that  when  I  address  you  again,  it  will 
be  under  happier  auspices,  I  am, 

"  R.  J.  Halbeman." 

Nor  were  these  all.  Ex-Attorney  General  Black  wrote 
me  early  in  July  these  brief  but  kind  words  of  sympathy : 

"  I  hasten  to  assure  you  that  I  will  do  all  that  in  me  lies 
to  secure  justice  in  Mr.  Clay's  case.  I  have  written  to  the 
President,  Secretary  of  War,  and  Mr.  Davis.  You  may 
safely  rely  upon  me  to  the  extent  of  my  ability  to  do  you 
good  !  " 

Letters  as  positive  and  cordial  came  also  from  Messrs. 
George  Shea  and  J.  M.  Carlisle.  I  had  written  meanwhile 
to  Mr.  Clay  in  prison,  hoping  thereby  to  give  him  courage ; 
to  the  Secretary  of  War,  beseeching  for  kindness  to  his  self- 
surrendered  and  delicate  prisoner ;  to  General  Miles,  beg- 
ging him  to  keep  his  promise  and  tell  me  of  Mr.  Clay's  con- 
dition. It  was  three  months  ere  I  heard  from  my  hus- 
band. The  Secretary  of  War  ignored  my  letter,  and 
three  weeks  passed  ere  the  general  in  command  at  Fortress 
Monroe  made  reply.  His  letter  was  judicially  kind.  It 
saved  me,  at  least,  from  apprehension  lest  Mr.  Clay,  too, 
should  be  submitted  to  the  horrible  indignity  which  had 
been  put  upon  Mr.  Davis,  the  news  of  which  was  still  agi- 
tating the  country.  General  Miles's  letter  was  as  follows : 

"Headquarters  Military  District  of  Fort  Monroe. 
Fort  Monroe,  Virginia,  June   20,   1865. 
"Dear  Madam:     Your  letter  of  the  8th  inst.  *  is  at  hand. 

*  The  letter  reads  "ult.,"  but,  being  obviously  an  error,  is  here 
changed.     A.    S. 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         293 

In  answer,  I  am  happy  to  say  to  you,  your  husband  is  well  in 
health  and  as  comfortable  as  it  is  possible  to  make  him  under 
my  orders.  He  has  not  at  any  time  been  in  irons.  His  fare 
is  good.  (I  think  Mr.  Davis's  health  better  than  when  he 
left  the  Clyde.)  He  has  pipe  and  tobacco.  The  officers  in 
charge  are  changed  every  day.  Your  husband  was  pleased 
to  hear  you  were  well.  Wished  me  to  say  that  he  was  well 
and  comfortable  and  under  the  circumstances  quite  cheerful. 
Has  every  confidence  that  he  will  be  able  to  vindicate  himself 
of  the  charge.  He  sends  much  love,  and  hopes  you  will  not 
make  your  [self]  uneasy  or  worry  on  his  account,  as  his  only 
concern  is  about  you.     Your  letter  was  sent  to  Judge  Holt. 

' '  Your  husband  has  not  been  allowed  any  books  except  his 
Bible  and  prayer-book,  although  I  have  requested  provision 
to  allow  him  one  other,  but  have  received  no  answer  as  yet. 
You  may  be  assured  that  while  your  husband  is  within  the 
limits  of  my  command  he  will  not  suffer.  Hoping  this  will 
find  you  well,  I  remain 

' '  Very  respectfully, 

"  Nelson    A.    Miles, 
"  Brevet  Major-General  United  States  Volunteers." 

On  the  face  of  it  this  communication  was  kind.  But, 
to  offset  its  statements  as  to  my  husband's  comfort, 
rumours  quite  the  reverse  reached  us  from  many  reliable 
sources.  How  well  these  were  founded,  how  grievously 
the  life  in  prison  told  upon  my  husband's  spirit,  may  be 
adjudged  from  the  following  excerpts  from  a  running 
letter  from  Mr.  Clay  which  reached  me  late  in  the 
autumn.  It  was  designed  for  my  eyes  alone,  in 
the  event  of  some  sudden  termination  of  his  present 
awful  experiences.  In  part  it  was  a  solemn  charge 
and  farewell  to  me,  and  this  portion  was  guarded ;  for 
Mr.  Clay  had  supposed  he  must  commit  the  letter,  at 
last,  to  the  care  of  General  Miles  for  transmittance  to  me. 
In  part,  it  is  evident  hope  was  reviving  him;  by  this 
time  permission  had  been  given  to  him  to  write  to  me 
through  the  War  Department ;  also,  he  perceived  the  way 
opening  for  a  private  delivery  of  the  letter,  and  therefore, 
at  the  last,  he  spoke  more  unreservedly. 


294  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"Casemate  No.  4,  Fortress  Monroe,  Virginia. 
"  Friday,  August  11,  1865. 
"My  Dearly  Beloved  Wife:  After  repeated  requests,  I 
am  permitted  to  address  you  this  communication,  which  is 
only  to  be  delivered  to  you  by  General  Miles  in  case  of  my 
death  before  we  meet  on  earth.  .  .  .  This  letter  is  written 
in  contemplation  of  death;  for,  although  trusting  through 
God's  goodness  and  mercy  to  see  you  again  on  this  earth,  yet, 
as  my  health  is  much  impaired  and  I  am  greatly  reduced  in 
flesh  and  strength,  and  never  allowed  a  night's  unbroken 
rest,  I  feel  I  am  in  greater  peril  of  my  life  than  is  usual. 
Under  the  solemn  reflection  that  I  may  not  see  you  again 
before  I  am  called  hence  to  meet  my  Judge,  I  shall  try  to  wiite 
nothing  that  I  would  erase  at  that  day  when  I  must  give  an 
account  of  the  deeds  done  in  the  flesh.  God  bears  me  wit- 
ness that  I  am  unconscious  of  having  committed  any  crime 
against  the  United  States  or  any  of  them,  or  any  citizen 
thereof,  and  that  I  feel  and  believe  that  I  have  done  my  duty 
as  a  servant  of  the  State  of  Alabama,  to  whom  alone  I  owed 
allegiance,  both  before  and  since  she  seceded  from  the  Federal 
Union.  I  have  not  changed  my  opinion  as  to  the  sovereignty 
of  the  States  and  the  right  of  a  State  to  secede ;  and  I  am  more 
confirmed  by  my  reflections  and  our  bitter  experience  that  the 
Northern  people  were  so  hostile  to  the  rights,  interests  and 
institutions  of  the  Southern  States,  that  it  was  just  and 
proper  for  these  to  seek  peace  and  security  in  a  separate 
government.  I  think  the  utter  subversion  of  our  political 
and  social  systems  and  sudden  enfranchisement  of  four 
million  slaves  a  great  crime,  and  one  of  the  most  terrible 
calamities  that  ever  befell  any  people;  that  generations  yet 
unborn  will  feel  it  in  sorrow  and  suffering;  and  that  nothing 
but  intense  hatred  and  vindictive  rage  could  have  so  blinded 
the  North  to  its  own  interests  and  [to]  those  of  humanity, 
as  to  induce  the  consummation  of  this  act  of  wickedness  and 
folly.  I  look  for  nothing  but  evil  to  both  blacks  and  whites 
in  the  South  from  this  sudden  and  violent  change  in  their 
relations;  intestine  feuds  and  tumults;  torpid  indolence  and 
stealthy  rapacity  on  the  part  of  the  blacks;  jealousy,  distrust 
and  oppression  of  them  on  the  part  of  the  whites;  mutual 
outrage  and  injury,  disquiet,  apprehensions,  alarms,  murders, 
robberies,  house-burnings,  and  other  crimes;  the  blighting 
of  hearts  and  homes  and  the  destruction  of  industry,  arts, 
literature,  wealth,  comfort  and  happiness.     No  people,  save 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         295 

the  Jews,  have  ever  been  more  oppressed  and  afflicted  than 
those  of  the  South,  [and]  especially  the  blacks,  will  be,  in  my 
opinion.  Their  professed  deliverers  will  prove  the  real  de- 
stroyers of  the  negroes  in  the  end. 

"Had  I  foreseen  this,  I  should  doubtless  have  been  in 
favour  of  enduring  lesser  evils  and  wrongs  from  the  North 
and  postponing  this  calamity,  for  it  would  have  come  sooner 
or  later,  but,  perhaps,  not  in  our  day.  I  never  doubted 
.  .  .  that  our  interest  would  be  best  served  by  preserving 
the  old  Union,  under  which  I  might  have  enjoyed  wealth  and 
honour  all  my  life.  I  felt  that  I  was  acting  against  my  own 
interest  in  favouring  Secession,  but  thought  it  my  duty  to  my 
State  and  the  South.  Hence,  I  have  nothing  to  reproach 
myself  for  as  to  my  course  in  that  respect.  I  only  regret  that 
we  did  not  defer  the  evil  day  or  prepare  longer,  better  main- 
taining our  independence.  I  still  think  we  might  and  would 
have  maintained  it,  with  more  wisdom  in  council  and  in  the 
field,  and  with  more  virtue  among  our  people.  I  feel  it  due 
to  my  character,  to  my  family  and  friends,  to  say  this  much  on 
public  affairs. 

"  Now  in  regard  to  your  own  course  and  that  of  my  kindred, 
I  would  advise  you,  if  able,  to  remove  from  the  South;  but, 
impoverished  as  you  all  are,  or  soon  will  be,  it  is  improbable 
that  you  can  do  so.  Hence,  you  had  best  make  your  home 
in  some  city  or  large  town,  where  the  white  population  pre- 
vails. I  think  populous  negro  districts  will  be  unsafe.  You 
will  be  obliged  to  cast  off  our  former  slaves,  if  they  should 
desire  to  live  with  you,  for  you  have  no  means  of  supporting 
or  of  employing  them.  .  .  .  Do  what  you  can  for  the 
comfort  of  my  parents.  .  .  .  Try  to  exercise  charity  to 
all  mankind,  forgiving  injuries,  cherishing  hatred  to  none, 
and  doing  good  even  to  enemies.  .  .  .  This  is  true 
wisdom,  even  if  there  was  no  life  beyond  the  grave,  because 
the  best  way  of  securing  peace  of  mind  and  of  promoting  mere 
worldly  interests.  But  when  I  remember  that  Christ  commands 
it  and  enforced  it  by  His  example,  and  promised,  'if  you  keep 
my  commandments,  you  shall  abide  in  my  love,''  the  inestimable 
great  reward  should  stimulate  us  to  the  performance  of  the  duty. 
.  .  Nothing  has  convinced  me  of  the  divinity  of  Christ 
so  much  as  His  superhuman  morality  and  virtue.     .     .     . 

"  Saturday,  August  12,  1865. 
".     .     .     I  hope  and  sometimes  think  that  my  confine- 
ment here  is  to  end  in  good  to  me.     I  have  tried  and  am 


296  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

still  trying  to  turn  it  to  my  incalculable  profit.  I  have  searched 
my  own  heart,  and  reviewed  my  life  more  earnestly,  prayer- 
fully, and  anxiously  than  in  all  my  days  before  coming  in 
here.  I  have  read  The  Book  through  twice;  much  of  it  more 
than  twice. 

"You  will  see  from  my  Bible  and  prayer-books  that  I  have 
been  assiduous  and  earnest  in  their  study.  I  confess  that 
this  has  been  from  necessity  rather  than  choice.  I  have 
never  been  allowed  to  see  any  word  in  print  or  manuscript 
outside  of  them,  until  3d  inst.,  when  a  copy  of  the  New  York 
Herald  was  brought  me,  and  I  was  informed  that  I  was  [to  be] 
allowed  to  see  such  newspapers  as  General  Miles  would  daily 
send  me. 

"  September  10,  1865. 
"  I  dropped  my  pen  in  the  delusive  hope  that  I  was  to  be 
allowed  to  see  you  soon,  or  at  all  events  to  correspond  freely 
with  you,  and  that  in  the  meantime  I  would  be  allowed  a  rea- 
sonable hope  of  living,  by  granting  me  opportunity  to  sleep. 
For  I  must  now  tell  you  what  I  have  heretofore  thought  I 
would  conceal  till  my  liberation  or  death,  that  I  have  endured 
the  most  ingenious  and  refined  torture  ever  since  I  came  into  this 
living  tomb;  for,  although  above  the  natural  face  of  the  earth,  it 
is  covered  with  about  ten  feet  of  earth,  and  is  always  more  or  less 
damp  like  a  tomb.  With  a  bright  light  in  my  room  and  the 
adjoining  room,  united  to  it  by  two  doorways,  closed  by  iron 
gates,  which  cover  about  half  the  space  or  width  of  the  partition, 
and  with  two  soldiers  in  this  room,  and  two  and  a  lieutenant  in 
the  adjoining,  until  about  30th  June;  with  the  opening  and 
shutting  of  those  heavy  iron  doors  or  gates,  the  soldiers  being 
relieved  every  two  hours;  with  the  tramp  of  these  heavy,  armed 
men,  walking  their  beats,  the  rattling  of  their  arms,  and  still 
more  the  trailing  sabre  of  the  lieutenant,  the  officer  of  the  guard, 
whose  duty  is  to  look  at  me  every  fifteen  minutes,  you  may  be 
sure  that  my  sleep  has  been  often  disturbed  and  broken.  In 
truth,  I  have  experienced  one  of  the  tortures  of  the  Spanish 
Inquisition  in  this  frequent,  periodical  and  irregular  disturb- 
ance of  my  sleep.  During  the  one  hundred  and  twelve  days 
of  my  imprisonment  here  I  have  never  enjoyed  one  night's 
unbroken  sleep ;  I  have  been  roused  every  two  hours,  if  asleep, 
by  the  tread  of  soldiers,  the  clank  of  arms  and  the  voices  of 
officers.  ...  I  have  never  known  the  feeling  of  refresh- 
ment from  sleep  on  arising  any  morning  of  my  imprisonment. 
Besides,   I  have  never  been  allowed  retirement  from  sight, 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         297 

actual  or  potential,  of  my  guards;  having  to  bathe  and  do  all 
the  acts  of  nature  in  view  of  the  guard,  if  they  chose  to  look  at 
me.  I  have  never  been  allowed  an  interview  with  any  one 
alone,  not  even  with  a  minister  of  God,  but  have  always  been 
confronted  with  two  or  more  witnesses,  whenever  minister 
or  physician  come  to  see  me.  I  have  never  been  allowed  any 
clothes  save  those  in  present  use.  .  .  .  Where  my  other 
clothes  are  I  do  not  know,  as  several  of  those  who  were  repre- 
sented as  masters  of  my  wardrobe  denied  the  trust.  I  have 
found  out  that  some  things  I  valued  have  been  stolen,  together 
with  all  the  little  money  I  kept.  I  think  it  probable  that  you 
will  never  see  half  of  the  contents  of  my  valise  and  despatch 
bag.  The  inclosed  letters*  present  but  a  glimpse  of  my 
tortures,  for  I  knew  that  the  grand  inquisitors,  the  President 
and  Cabinet,  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  and  even  more;  and, 
besides,  my  debility  of  body  and  of  mind  was  such  that  I  had 
not  power  to  coin  my  thoughts  into  words.  .  .  .  And  to 
be  frank,  I  was  too  proud  to  confess  to  them  all  my  sufferings, 
and  also  apprehended  that  they  would  rather  rejoice  over  and 
aggravate  than  relent  and  alleviate  them.  I  now  feel  ashamed 
that  I  have  complained  to  them  instead  of  enduring  unto 
death.  My  love  for  you,  my  parents  and  brothers,  prevailed 
over  my  self-love,  and  extracted  from  me  those  humiliating 
letters.  I  have  been  reluctant  to  humble  myself  to  men  whom 
I  regarded  as  criminals  far  more  than  myself,  touching  all  the 
woes  and  wrongs,  the  destruction  and  desolation  of  the  South. 
"If  you  ever  get  my  [Jay's]  prayer-book,  you  will  see 
scratched  with  a  pencil,  borrowed  for  the  occasion,  such 
items  in  my  monotonous  prison  life  as  I  felt  worth  recording. 

"October  16th. 
"On  the  19th  of  August  I  wrote  my  second  letter  to  the  Sec- 
retary of  War,  and  was  then  in  hopes  of  removal  of  the  guard 
from  the  adjoining  room  in  a  day  or  two.  Besides,  I  was  so 
enfeebled  and  my  nerves  so  shattered  by  loss  of  sleep  that  I 
could  scarcely  write.  Hence  I  quit  this  painful  labour  of 
love.  The  guard  was  not  removed  till  the  12th  of  Septem- 
ber, and  then  because  my  condition,  from  loss  of  sleep,  was 
become  really  very  critical.  Since  then  I  have  improved 
very  much  in  health  and  have  slept  as  well  as  I  ever  did.  But 
I  have  been  deluded  with   the  hope  of   my  enlargement  on 

*  Copies  of  those  addressed  by  Mr.  Clay  to  the  Secretaty  of  War  and 
to  President  Johnson.     A.  S. 


298  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

parole,  and  thought  I  would  not  dwell  on  so  painful  a  theme. 
I  now  learn  that  I  am  to  be  moved  to-day  to  Carroll  Hall, 

where   Mr.    D is.  Hence   I    avail   myself  of   a 

chance  to  send  you  these  sheets  lest  they  should  never  reach 
you  if  I  die  in  prison.  I  must  impress  on  you  the  propriety  of 
concealing  this  communication  while  I  live  and  never  alluding 
to  it,  for,  if  found  out,  I  should  suffer  for  it.  ...  I  dare 
say  I  should  be  turned  out  on  parole  but  for  the  charge  against 
me  of  concerting  Lincoln's  murder.  They  are  loth  to  con- 
fess the  charge  to  be  false,  which  they  would  do  by  releasing 
me.  I  am  made  to  suffer  to  save  them  from  the  reproach  of 
injustice.  I  should  be  willing  to  brave  them  out  by  stubborn 
endurance  and  refusal  of  anything  but  legal  justice.  I  should 
not  fear  that.  But  I  am  never  to  be  tried  for  murder,  nor,  I 
think,  for  treason.  They  know  there  is  no  pretext  for  charg- 
ing me  with  murder,  and  they  doubt  their  ability  to  convict 
me  of  treason  before  a  jury  of  Southern  men,  and  such  only 
could  legally  try  me.     .     .     . 

"Now  excuse  any  incoherence  or  want  of  method  and  the 
bad  writing,  as  it  is  all  done  under  great  disadvantages,  which 
I  may  explain  hereafter.  You  can  write  to  me  under  cover 
to  Captain  R.  W.  Bickley,  Third  Pennsylvania  Artillery, 
Fortress  Monroe,  Virginia.  He  will  be  here  till  ioth  of 
November,  and  then  go  out  of  service.  After  that  I'll  find 
some  one  else  through  whom  you  can  write  to  me.  He  is 
from  Philadelphia.  He,  Captain  J.  B.  Tetlow,  Philadelphia, 
Captain  McEwan,  Lewisburg,  Pennsylvania,  and  Dr.  John  J. 
Craven*  of  this  place,  have  been  very  kind  to  me ;  also  Lieuten- 
ant Lemuel  Shipman,  Sunbury,  Pennsylvania.  The  last 
made  me  a  wooden  knife  to  eat  with  during  the  time  I  was 
denied  knife  and  fork  and  spoon,  which  was  till  thirtieth  of 
June. 

"They  would,  too,  shake  hands  (which  was  forbidden)  and 
treat  me  as  an  equal  when  they  could  do  so  unobserved. 
Take  care  you  don't  allude  to  this  letter  in  yours  through  War 

Department.     .     .     . has  no  sensibility 

or  refinement,  and  hence  Mr.  Davis  and  I  have  suffered  more 
than  we  should  have  done.  Mr.  Davis  was  ironed  without 
cause,  and  only  grew  violent  when  they  offered  to  iron  him.     I 

*  Dr.  Craven  was  already  in  communication  with  Dr.  Withers,  of 
Petersburg,  Va.,  Mr.  Clay's  cousin,  who,  through  the  courtesy  of  his 
fellow-practitioner,  was  enabled  to  contribute  occasionally  to  Mr. 
Clay's  comfort  and  welfare.     A.  S. 


NEWS  FROM  FORTRESS  MONROE         299 
know  this  from  one  who  was  present.     Facts  are,  General  M- 


was  authorised  to  iron  us  if  necessary  for  safety,  and  deemed  it 

necessary  with  Mr.  D ,  or  mistook  the  authority  as  an  order 

to  do  it.  But  Mr.  Davis  is  petulant,  irascible,  and  offensive  in 
manner  to  officers,  as  they  tell  me,  though  they  say  he  is  able, 
learned,  high-toned,  and  imposing  in  manner." 

Before  this  heartrending  letter  reached  me,  however, 
another,  couched  purposely  in  terms  more  guarded  (as 
befitted  matter  which  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  Secretary 
Stanton's,  the  Attorney-General's  and  General  Miles's 
scrutiny),  had  reached  me.  In  my  endeavours  to  com- 
fort our  enfeebled  parents,  I  had  already  discussed  with 
them  the  advisability  of  making  my  way  to  Washington, 
and  in  the  first  letter  from  me  that  reached  my  husband's 
hands  I  spoke  of  my  hope  of  doing  so.  Unknown  to  me, 
Mr.  Clay,  so  early  as  June  30th,  had  written  an  urgent 
appeal  to  Secretary  Stanton  that  I  might  be  allowed  to 
see  or  communicate  with  him.  To  this  he  had  received 
no  reply.  Upon  learning,  therefore,  of  my  intention 
through  my  letter,  his  first  impulse  was  to  dissuade  me. 

"If  you  come  North,"  he  wrote,  on  August  21st,  "you 
must  come  with  a  brave  heart,  my  dear  'Ginie  . 
prepared  to  hear  much  to  wound  you,  and  to  meet  with 
coldness  and  incivility  where  you  once  received  kindness 
and  courtesy.  Some  will  offend  you  with  malice,  some 
unwittingly  and  from  mere  habit,  and  some  even  through 
a  sense  of  duty.  Many  religionists  have,  doubtless,  found 
pleasure  and  felt  they  were  doing  God  service  in  persecu- 
ting heretics.  If  rudely  repulsed,  remember,  in  charity, 
that  such  is  human  nature.  The  Jewish  priests  drove  off 
the  lepers  with  stones.     .     .     ." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Again  in  Washington 

By  September  I  had  reopened  correspondence  with 
many  Washington  friends.  As  will  have  been  seen  by  a 
perusal  of  certain  preceding  letters,  the  question  of  giving 
me  permission  to  return  to  the  capital  already  had  been 
broached  to  the  President  and  Secretary  of  War,  by 
Judge  Black  and  others.  It  was  now  again  brought  to 
the  attention  of  Mr.  Johnson,  by  Mr.  Duff  Green,  a  long- 
time friend  of  ex-Governor  Clay,  of  my  husband,  and  of  the 
President's.  It  was  the  first  application  of  all  that  had 
been  sent  to  the  Government  to  bring  a  response.  The 
Executive's  reply  was  couched  as  follows: 

"  I  am  directed  by  the  President  to  say  that  an  appli- 
cation for  permission  to  visit  Washington,  made  by  Mrs. 
C.  C.  Clay,  Jr.,  over  her  own  name,  will  be  considered  by 
him.  R.  Morrow, 

"Major  and  A.  A.  G.,  Secretary." 

In  forwarding  this  communication  to  me,  Mr.  Green 
wrote : 

"We  think  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  your  coming  at 
once.  To  wait  for  permission  may  delay  you  weeks,  and 
perhaps  months.  Your  coming  would  not  prejudice 
either  yourself  or  your  husband,  and  you  can  do  more  by  a 
personal  application  to  the  President  than  by  an  applica- 
tion 'over  your  own  name.'" 

Two  months  dragged  by,  however,  ere  I  could  complete 
arrangements  for  the  journey  and  detach  myself  from  our 
clinging  parents,  who,  deprived  of  all  of  their  other  chil- 
dren, now  placed  their  dependence  upon  me.      Notwith- 

300 


AGAIN  IN  WASHINGTON  301 

standing  their  hearts  ached  for  some  assurance  of  Mr.  Clay's 
safety,  they  were  ill-disposed  to  look  upon  my  projected 
trip  with  favour.  Huntsville  was  in  complete  subjugation 
to  the  Federal  representatives.  We  had  numerous 
reasons  to  realise  the  pitiless  and  cruel  policy  that  had 
been  inaugurated  by  our  conquerors,  and  few  to  lead  us 
to  look  for  kinder  things  at  the  hands  of  the  powers  at 
Washington.  The  reports  that  reached  us  of  the  treat- 
ment accorded  to  those  Southerners  who  had  already 
proceeded  to  the  capital,  even  allowing  for  the  prejudice 
of  editors  unfriendly  to  us,  were  not  of  a  kind  to  encourage 
a  hope  for  clemency  or  justice  there.  The  efforts  of 
the  wives  of  other  prisoners  to  communicate  with  their 
husbands,  their  applications  to  the  Government  to  grant 
them  the  right  of  trial,  not  only  had  been  of  no  avail,  but, 
in  some  instances,  had  made  them  the  direct  objects  of 
attack  from  those  inimical  to  them.  "  I  have  had  a 
weary  time,"  one  wrote  late  in  October,  "but  of  that,  if 
you  knew  how  weary,  you  would  cry  out  '  No  more  an' 
you  love  me,'  rather  than  bear  the  infliction  of  the  retro- 
spect, so  I  will  not  torment  you."  .  .  .  President 
Johnson's  remarks  to  the  South  Carolina  Delegation, 
concerning  Mrs.  Davis's  efforts,  became  the  talk  of  the 
country.  I  was  astonished  when  I  learned  that  she  had 
never  written  a  line  without  consultation  with  Mr.  Schley 
and  his,  in  turn,  consulting  General  Steedman  upon  the 
tenor  of  her  letters,  and  receiving  the  approval  of  both  on 
the  manner  of  presenting  the  subject.  It  was  the  old  fable 
of  the  lamb  whose  grandfather  muddied  the  stream. 

Such  news  served  further  to  convince  my  husband's 
parents  of  the  futility  of  the  trip  I  was  contemplating. 
They  urged  that  I  would  be  attacked  on  every  side  so 
soon  as  I  entered  the  Federal  capital;  they  pleaded, 
too,  alas  !  the  stringency  of  our  present  means,  a  very 
vital  objection  just  then  to  us  whose  every  possession  had 
either  been  "confiscated"  or  otherwise  rendered  useless 


3o2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  us.  Nevertheless,  every  moment  anxiety  was  con- 
suming me.  I  resolved  to  act  while  I  had  the  strength, 
and  made  known  my  resolve  to  our  parents. 

The  middle  of  November  had  arrived  ere,  by  the  aid 
of  Mr.  Robert  Herstein,  a  kindly  merchant  of  Hunts- 
ville  ("may  his  tribe  increase'"'),  who  advanced  me 
$100  in  gold  (and  material  for  a  silk  gown,  to  be  made 
when  I  should  reach  my  destination),  I  was  enabled  to 
begin  my  journey  to  the  capital.  Under  the  escort  of  a 
kind  friend  and  neighbour,  Major  W.  H.  Echols,  of 
Hunts ville,  who,  having  in  mind  the  securing  of  a  certain 
patent,  arranged  his  plans  so  as  to  accompany  me  to 
Washington,  I  bade  father  and  mother  "good-bye"  and 
stepped  aboard  the  train.  My  heart  sometimes  beat  high 
with  hope,  yet,  at  others,  I  trembled  at  what  I  might 
encounter.  Fortunately  for  the  preservation  of  my 
courage,  I  had  no  forewarning  that  I  had  looked,  for  the 
last  time,  upon  the  sorrowful  face  of  our  mother.  Her 
closing  words,  in  that  heartbreaking  farewell,  were  of 
hope  that  I  would  soon  return  bringing  with  me  her 
dearest  son.  With  the  desire  to  cheer  them  both,  I 
wrote  back  merrily  as  I  proceeded  on  my  way;  but, 
indeed,  I  had  small  need  to  affect  a  spirit  of  buoyancy; 
for,  from  the  beginning,  I  was  the  recipient  of  innumer- 
able kindnesses  from  fellow-travellers  who  learned  my 
identity.  In  many  instances  my  fare  was  refused  by 
friendly  railroad  conductors. 

"I  have  paid  literally  nothing  thus  far,"  I  wrote  from 
Louisville,  Kentucky,  which  city  I  reached  early  in  the 
morning  of  November  15th.  "At  Nashville,"  my  letter 
added,  "we  took  sleeping  cars,  which  were  as  luxurious 
as  the  bed  that  now  invites  me.  I  had,  however,  an 
amusing,  and,  at  first  blush,  an  alarming  nocturnal 
adventure.  I  was  waked  by  the  rattling  of  paper  at 
my  head,  and,  half  unconsciously  putting  out  my  hand, 
it  lighted  on  the  hairy  back  of  some  animal !     I  sprang 


AGAIN  IN  WASHINGTON  303 

out  of  bed,  raised  the  curtain,  and  there  sat,  in  the  corner 
of  my  berth,  the  most  monstrous  coon  you  ever  saw ! 
The  black  around  his  eyes  at  first  made  him  appear  like 
an  owl,  but  he  proved  to  be  a  genuine  old  '  zip  coon.'  So 
I  got  out  one  of  'Mammy  'Ria's'  nice  biscuit,  which 
have  been  greatly  complimented  by  my  friends,  and 
asked  him  please  to  come  out  of  my  bed  and  eat  some 
supper.  But  he  wouldn't !  And  I  had  to  wake  Major 
Echols  in  the  gentlemen's  apartment,  who  forcibly 
ejected  him  after  a  good  laugh  at  me !" 

A  day  later  and  we  reached  Cincinnati,  where,  owing 
to  the  late  arrival  of  the  boat,  the  St.  Nicholas,  on  which 
we  had  travelled  from  Louisville,  through  banks  of  fog, 
we  were  delayed  some  twelve  hours.  Our  trip  on  this 
river  steamer  was,  in  its  way,  a  kind  of  triumphal  progress, 
very  reassuring  to  me  at  that  critical  moment.  As 
I  wrote  back  to  father,  "We  found  the  captain  a  good 
Southerner  and  a  noble  old  fellow !  Had  one  son  in  the 
Federal  Army  and  lost  one  at  Shiloh !  Mr.  Hughes,  of 
the  Louisville  Democrat,  was  aboard ;  he  said  his  paper  had 
been  suppressed,  but  he  would  now  be  permitted  to  go 
South.  He  is  a  rabid  secessionist,  and  promised  to  copy 
the  News*  articles  concerning  my  husband."  On 
board,  too,  was  Mrs.  Gamble,  of  Louisville,  a  wealthy 
woman  whose  name  was  associated  with  innumerable 
kindnesses  to  our  soldiers,  and  generous  gifts  to  our 
cause.  She  was  a  sad  woman,  but  sympathised  greatly 
with  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay,  and  begged  that  upon  my 
return  from  Washington  we  would  make  our  home  with 
her  "until  better  times." 

Upon  learning  the  length  of  time  we  must  spend  in 
Cincinnati,  I  went  at  once  to  the  Spencer  House,  whence 
I  wrote  and  immediately  despatched  notes  to  my  old 
friends,  Mrs.  George  E.  Pugh,  wife  of  the  ex-Senator,  and 
to  Senator  and  Mrs.  George  H.  Pendleton  (the  first  a 

*  New  York  Daily  News. 


304  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

resident  of  the  city,  the  last-named  residents  of  Clifton, 
a  suburb),  telling  them  of  my  unexpected  presence  in  the 
city,  and  hoping  to  see  them  during  the  day.  On  my 
way  to  the  hotel,  I  had  looked  about  the  city  with  in- 
creasing interest  and  pleasure.  How  different  it  was 
from  our  devastated  country  ! 

"You  never  saw  the  like  of  the  fruit!"  I  wrote  en- 
thusiastically to  mother.  "Grapes,  oranges,  apples; 
such  varieties  of  nuts — cream,  hazel,  hickory,  and  English 
walnuts — as  are  on  the  beautiful  stall  just  at  the  entrance 
of  the  hotel !  The  Major  has  just  entered,  laughing 
heartily  at  Yankee  tricks  and  Yankee  notions  !  He  says 
a  man  said  to  him,  '  Insure  your  life,  sir  ? ' 

" '  For  what  ? '  says  the  Major. 

"'For  ten  cents!'  replies  the  man.  'And  if  you  are 
killed  on  the  cars,  your  family  gets  $3,000  cash  !' 

"'Three  thousand?'  rejoins  Major  Echols,  contemptu- 
ously. '  What's  that  to  a  man  worth  a  million! '  at  which 
all  stare  as  if  shot.  I  laugh,  too,  but  tell  him  I  fear  we 
will  be  made  to  pay  for  his  fun,  if  they  think  us  mil- 
lionaires /" 

The  day  was  half  gone  when  dear  Mrs.  Pugh,  only  a 
few  years  ago  the  triumphant  beauty  of  the  Pierce  and 
Buchanan  administrations,  but  now  a  pale,  saddened 
woman,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  appeared.  God  !  what 
private  sorrows  as  well  as  national  calamities  had  filled 
in  the  years  since  we  had  separated  in  Washington ! 
The  pathos  of  her  appearance  opened  a  very  flood-gate  of 
tears,  which  I  could  not  check.  But  Mrs.  Pugh  shed 
none.     She  only  put  out  a  restraining  hand  to  me. 

"  No  tears  now,  I  beg  of  you.  I  can't  endure  it. 
Tell  me  of  yourself,  of  your  plans.  Where  are  you  going  ? 
What  of  Mr.  Clay?  How  can  I  aid  you?"  she  asked, 
turning  away  all  discussion  save  as  to  the  object  of  my 
journey. 

The  afternoon  was  already  nearly  spent  when  Senator 


AGAIN  IN  WASHINGTON  305 

and  Mrs.  Pendleton  arrived,  having  driven  in  from  their 
suburban  home  upon  the  receipt  of  my  note,  sent  at  mid- 
day. Their  welcome  was  cordial  and  frank  as  in  the 
old  days.  They  had  come  to  take  me  home  to  dinner, 
where,  they  assured  me,  we  might  talk  more  freely  than 
at  the  hotel.  They  would  take  no  refusal,  but  agreed 
with  Major  Echols,  who  was  unable  to  accompany  us,  to 
see  me  safely  to  the  station  in  ample  time  to  take  the 
midnight  train  for  Washington.  In  the  hours  that 
followed,  I  learned  somewhat  of  the  experiences  in 
the  North,  during  the  bloody  strife  of  the  four  years 
just  closed,  of  Southern  sympathisers,  even  where  their 
sympathy  was  restrained  from  announcing  itself  by  an 
open  espousal.  Senator  Pendleton's  known  friendliness 
for  Clement  L.  Vallandigham,  whose  fearlessness  and  out- 
spoken zeal  in  our  behalf  had  cost  him  so  dearly,  had 
brought  its  own  penalties.  At  times,  he  told  me,  when 
feeling  ran  highest,  neither  his  home  nor  that  of  Senator 
Pugh  had  escaped  certain  malodorous  missiles  of  the 
lawless ! 

We  spent  much  of  the  evening  in  scanning  the  prob- 
lems that  lay  before  me.  I  told  my  host  of  the  numbers 
of  brilliant  men  who  had  volunteered  their  aid  to  Mr. 
Clay,  mentioning  among  others  the  name  of  Judge 
Hughes,  of  Washington,  whose  friendly  proffer  of  counsel 
had  reached  me  just  previous  to  my  departure  from 
Huntsville. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Senator  Pendleton,  as  we  drove 
at  last  to  the  station,  "see  Judge  Hughes  first!  He  is 
strictly  non-partisan,  is  a  friend  of  the  President's,  and, 
moreover,  is  under  obligations  to  Mr.  Clay,  which  I  know 
he  would  gladly  repay  ! ' ' 

It  was  already  a  late  hour  when  we  rejoined  the  waiting 
Major  Echols.  With  a  warm  "God  bless  you,  dear 
friend!"  Senator  and  Mrs.  Pendleton  bade  me  "good- 
bye," and  I  stepped  aboard  the  train  for  Washington. 


3o6  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

What  that  name  called  up,  what  my  thoughts  were,  or 
what  my  sensations,  as  I  realised  our  approach  to  the  city 
once  so  attractive,  but  now  seeming  to  represent  to  me 
a  place  of  oppression  and  the  prison  in  which  for  six 
months  Mr.  Clay  had  been  incarcerated,  may  better  be 
imagined  than  described.  Early  the  following  morning 
our  train  began  to  thread  its  way  through  familiar 
country.  By  mid-day  we  had  reached  war-scarred 
Harper's  Ferry,  and  passed  over  into  old  Virginia  !  A 
short  journey  now,  and  I  found  myself  once  more  driving 
up  Pennsylvania  Avenue  in  the  company  of  tried  friends, 
en  route  to  Willard's. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
Secretary  Stanton  Denies  Responsibility 

From  the  hour  of  my  arrival  in  the  capital,  Friday, 
November  17th,  my  misgivings  gave  place  to  courage. 
I  went  directly  to  Willard's,  which,  being  near  the 
Executive  Mansion  and  the  War  Department,  and  my 
purse  very  slender,  I  believed  would  save  me  hack  hire. 
I  had  scarcely  registered  when  General  Clingman  called. 
He  was  followed  shortly  by  Senators  Garland  and  John- 
son, of  Arkansas,  the  vanguard  of  numerous  friends,  who 
within  a  few  hours  came  to  extend  their  sympathies  and 
wishes  for  the  success  of  my  mission.  During  that  first 
day  I  sent  a  note  to  Colonel  Johnson,  Mr.  Johnson's 
Secretary,  asking  for  an  interview  with  the  President 
at  the  earliest  possible  date.  To  my  great  relief  of  mind, 
within  a  few  hours  there  came  an  answer,  telling  me  the 
President  would  see  me  the  following  Wednesday  ! 

For  the  next  few  days  I  knew  no  moment  alone.  The 
list  of  callers  noted  in  my  small  diary  necessarily  was 
but  partial,  yet  even  that  is  wonderfully  long.  Among 
them,  to  my  surprise  and  somewhat  to  my  mystification, 
were  General  Ihrie,  Major  Miller  and  Colonel  Ayr  of 
Grant's  staff.  Their  friendliness  amazed  me.  I  could 
imagine  no  reason  why  they  should  call.  General  Ihrie, 
moreover,  assured  me  of  his  chief's  kind  feeling  toward 
my  husband,  and  advised  me  to  see  the  Lieutenant  - 
General  at  an  early  date. 

The  Sunday  after  my  arrival,  callers  began  to  arrive 
before  breakfast,  the  first  being  Colonel  Ogle  Tayloe, 
bearing  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Tayloe  to  dinner  the 

3o7 


3o8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

following  evening.  Before  church  hour  had  arrived,  dear 
old  Mr.  Corcoran  came,  intending  to  give  me  welcome  on 
his  way  to  St.  John's.  He  forgot  to  leave  again  until 
services  were  over,  and  others  returning  from  church 
crowded  in.  Mr.  Corcoran's  manner  was  full  of  the  old- 
time  charm,  as  he  bade  me  good-bye  at  last ;  and,  as  he 
took  my  hand  in  parting,  he  said,  "  You've  not  forgotten 
the  little  white  house  round  the  corner?"  (referring  to 
the  banking-house  of  Riggs  &  Corcoran). 

"  No,"  I  answered,  smiling  sadly,  "  You  are  my  bankers 
still,  but,  alas  !  where  are  my  deposits?  " 

Mr.  Corcoran's  glance  was  full  of  kindness.  Laying 
his  hand  upon  his  heart,  he  replied,  "They  are  here,  my 
friend  ! ' '  and  he  pressed  my  hand  reassuringly. 

I  remember  that  Sunday  as  one  in  which  tears  of 
gratitude  rose  to  my  eyes  again  and  again,  until  at  last 
I  exclaimed,  "  It  is  all  very  strange  to  me !  There 
appears  to  be  none  of  my  husband's  enemies  here  !  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  everyone  is  his  -friend  ! ' ' 

The  following  morning,  however,  I  had  an  experience 
calculated  to  arouse  in  me  a  feeling  somewhat  less  secure. 
I  was  still  in  the  bath  when  a  tap  came  at  my  door. 

"A  lady  wishes  to  see  you,"  was  the  reply  to  my 
question. 

"Who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

"  Don't  know,  ma'am.     She  wouldn't  give  her  name  ! " 

"Very  well,"  I  answered.  "Explain  to  her  that  I 
am  dressing;  that  unless  her  business  is  imperative,  I 
would  prefer  to  have  her  call  later." 

In  a  few  moments  I  heard  light  tapping  again.  Upon 
my  inquiry,  a  name  was  whispered  through  the  key- 
hole, which  I  recognised  as  that  of  the  wife  of  a  well- 
known  public  official.  I  at  once  admitted  her.  The 
purpose  of  her  visit  was  a  peculiar  one.  She  had  come 
to  warn  me  of  the  presence  in  the  city  of  James  Mont- 
gomery,  alias  Thompson,  one  of  the  hireling  witnesses 


STANTON  DENIES  RESPONSIBILITY       309 

whose  "testimony"  against  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay  had 
been  registered  with  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice. 
By  some  unfortunate  connection  of  her  own  family 
with  this  miscreant,  my  visitor  had  learned  that  Mont- 
gomery, upon  hearing  of  my  object  in  visiting  Washington, 
had  been  heard  to  make  a  threat  of  violence  against  me. 
The  lady,  who  shall  continue  to  be  nameless,  was  so 
convinced  some  harm  threatened  me  that  she  begged 
me  to  promise  that  while  in  the  capital  I  would  go 
armed,  and  especially  be  cautious  with  unknown  callers. 
Montgomery,  she  added,  was  likely  to  disguise  himself; 
but,  further  to  aid  me  in  guarding  against  some  injury 
at  his  hands,  she  had  brought  with  her  a  photograph  of 
the  wretched  man.  Whether  or  not  some  crime  was 
projected  against  me  by  this  man  I  never  knew,  but 
the  wild  nature  of  the  times  warranted  me  in  exercising, 
thereafter,  a  prudence  which  otherwise  would  not  have 
occurred  to  me.  I  took  counsel  with  friends,  and, 
with  one  exception,  later  to  be  mentioned,  no  occurrence 
during  my  stay  in  the  capital  served  to  arouse  in  me  a 
further  apprehension  from  that  quarter. 

In  the  days  that  intervened  until  my  appointment 
with  the  President,  my  hours  were  spent  in  advantageous 
interviews  with  Judge  Hughes,  of  Hughes  &  Denver, 
with  Judge  Black,  Senator  Garland,  Frederick  A.  Aiken 
and  others,  during  which  I  gleaned  much  knowledge  of 
what  had  transpired  since  my  husband's  incarceration,  and 
of  the  public  feeling  concerning  the  distinguished  prisoners 
at  Fortress  Monroe,  whose  trials  had  been  so  mysteriously 
postponed.  It  was  now  six  months  since  the  imprison- 
ment of  Messrs.  Davis  and  Clay;  but  in  so  far  as  might 
be  learned,  definite  charges  against  them  had  not  yet 
been  filed  at  the  War  Department.  On  every  side  I 
heard  it  declared  that  the  situation  was  unprecedented 
in  English  or  American  jurisprudence.  Leading  lawyers 
of  the  country  were  ready  and  eager  to  appear  in  the 


3io  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

prisoners'  behalf,  but  every  effort  made  by  friends  to  see 
them  thus  far  had  been  futile.  In  those  first  weeks, 
reiterated  proffers  of  legal  aid  continued  to  reach  me 
daily  from  distinguished  quarters. 

Upon  my  arrival  in  the  capital  I  had  put  myself  at 
once  into  communication  with  Judge  Hughes,  as  advised 
by  Senator  Pendleton.  His  kindness  was  unceasing, 
not  only  in  the  matter  of  legal  advice  to  guide  me  through 
the  intricacies  of  my  undertaking,  but  in  his  generous 
placing  at  my  disposal  his  horses  and  carriages,  and 
the  services  of  his  coachman  and  footman.  Mrs.  Hughes 
was  absent  in  the  West,  and  the  hospitality  of  their  home, 
therefore,  was  barred;  but  all  that  a  thoughtful  nature 
could  suggest  was  done  by  the  Judge  to  facilitate  success 
in  my  mission. 

From  the  first,  too,  Judge  Jeremiah  S.  Black,  ex- 
Attorney-General,  and  Secretary  of  State  under  President 
Buchanan,  with  whom  I  now  became,  for  the  first  time, 
personally  acquainted,  proved  a  bulwark  of  sympathy 
that  thereafter  never  failed  my  husband  and  self.  He 
was  a  peculiar  man  in  appearance,  with  shaggy  brows, 
deep-set  eyes,  and  a  cavernous  mouth,  out  of  which 
invincible  arguments  rolled  that  made  men  listen.  This 
feature  was  large  when  he  spoke,  but  when  he  laughed, 
the  top  of  his  head  fell  back  like  a  box  cover,  and  looked 
as  if  it  must  drop  over  the  other  way.  Happily  for  the 
unfortunate,  his  heart  was  modelled  on  a  scale  as  large, 
and  for  months  he  gave  his  time  and  advice  unstintedly 
to  me. 

On  the  Wednesday  appointed  by  the  President,  ac- 
companied by  Judge  Hughes,  I  proceeded  to  keep  my 
appointment  at  the  White  House.  One  of  the  first 
familiar  faces  I  saw  as  I  entered  was  that  of  Mrs.  Stephen 
A.  Douglas,  now  widowed.  A  wait  of  some  moments 
being  imminent,  with  the  affectionate  warmth  so  well- 
known  to  me  in  other  and  happier  days,  Mrs.  Douglas  at 


STANTON  DENIES  RESPONSIBILITY       311 

once  volunteered  to  accompany  me  in  my  call  upon 
"the  good  President,"  and  in  a  few  moments  we  were 
shown  into  his  presence.  Mr.  Johnson  received  us 
civilly,  preserving,  at  first,  what  I  learned  afterward 
to  know  was  an  habitual  composure,  though  he  softened 
somewhat  under  the  ardent  appeal  of  Mrs.  Douglas 
when  she  urged  upon  him  the  granting  of  my  request. 

My  first  impression  of  the  President,  who,  while  a 
Senator,  in  the  fifties,  had  seldom  been  seen  in  social 
gatherings  in  the  capital,  was  that  of  a  man  upon  whom 
greatness,  of  a  truth,  had  been  thrust ;  a  political  accident, 
in  fact.  His  hands  were  small  and  soft;  his  manner 
was  self-contained,  it  is  true,  but  his  face,  with  "cheeks 
as  red  as  June  apples,"  was  not  a   forceful   one. 

From  the  beginning,  as  Judge  Black  had  declared  he 
would  do,  Mr.  Johnson  clearly  wished  to  shirk  the  re- 
sponsibility of  my  husband's  case,  and  to  throw  it  upon 
the  shoulders  of  his  Secretary  of  War.  His  non-committal 
responses  to  my  reasons  why  I  should  have  access  to 
my  husband,  why  he  should  be  tried  or  liberated,  dis- 
heartened me  greatly.  When  Mrs.  Douglas  perceived 
this,  she  added  her  pleadings  to  mine,  and,  as  the  Presi- 
dent's shiftiness  became  more  and  more  apparent,  she 
burst  into  tears,  and,  throwing  herself  down  on  her 
knees  before  him,  called  upon  me  to  follow  her  example. 
This,  however,  I  could  not  comply  with.  I  had  no 
reason  to  respect  the  Tennesseean  before  me.  That  he 
should  have  my  husband's  life  in  his  power  was  a  mon- 
strous wrong,  and  a  thousand  reasons  why  it  was  wrong 
flashed  through  my  mind  like  lightning  as  I  measured 
him,  searing  it  as  they  passed.  My  heart  was  full  of 
indignant  protest  that  such  an  appeal  as  Mrs.  Douglas's 
should  have  been  necessary ;  but  that,  having  been  made, 
Mr.  Johnson  could  refuse  it,  angered  me  still  more.  I 
would  not  have  knelt  to  him  even  to  save  a  precious 
life.      This    first,    memorable  one    of    many,    unhappy 


3i2  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

scenes  at  the  White  House,  ended  by  the  President 
inviting  me  to  call  again  after  he  had  consulted  his 
Cabinet.  At  the  same  time  he  urged  me  to  see  Mr. 
Stanton. 

"I  think  you  had  best  go  to  him,"  he  said.  "This 
case  comes  strictly  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Secretary 
of  War,  and  I  advise  you  to  see  him  ! " 

Realising  the  futility  of  further  argument  with 
Mr.  Johnson  at  the  time,  I  followed  his  advice,  going 
almost  immediately,  and  alone,  to  the  War  Department. 
It  was  my  first  and  last  visit  to  Secretary  Stanton,  in 
that  day  of  the  Government's  chaos,  autocrat  of  all  the 
United  States  and  their  citizens.  Varying  accounts  of 
that  experience  have  appeared  in  the  press  during  the 
last  thirty-seven  years.  The  majority  of  them  have 
exaggerated  the  iron  Secretary's  treatment  of  me.  Many 
have  accused  him  of  a  form  of  brusque  brutality,*  which, 
while  quite  in  keeping  with  his  reputation,  nevertheless 
was  not  exhibited  toward  me. 

The  Secretary  of  War  was  not  guilty  of  "tearing  up  in 
my  face  and  throwing  in  the  waste-basket,"  as  one 
writer  has  averred,  the  President's  note  of  introduction, 
which  I  bore  him,  even  though  I  was  a  declared  "  Rebel" 
and  the  wife  of  a  so-called  conspirator  and  assassin.  He 
was  simply  inflexibly  austere  and  pitiless. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  War  Department,  I  gave  my 
card  and  the  President's  note  to  the  messenger  in  waiting, 
which,  from  across  the  room,  I  saw  handed  to  the  Secre- 
tary.    He  glanced  at  them,  laid  them  on  the  desk  at  which 

*  To  pass  by  less  irreproachable  witnesses,  the  following  incident 
illustrative  of  Mr.  Stanton's  brusquerie  to  women  was  told  by  the 
Reverend  Elisha  Dyer.  "While  sitting  in  Mr.  Stanton's  private  office, 
a  well-dressed  lady  entered.  She  was  rather  young,  and  very  capti- 
vating. Approaching  the  Secretary,  she  said,  '  Excuse  me,  but  I  must 
see  you  ! '  My  old  friend  at  once  assumed  the  air  of  a  bear.  In  a  stern 
voice  he  said,  'Madam,  you  have  no  right  to  come  into  this  office,  and 
you  must  leave  it !  No,  Madam,'  he  continued,  when  she  tried  to 
speak,  'not  one  word!'  And,  calling  an  orderly,  he  said,  'Take  this 
woman  out!'"     A.  S. 


STANTON   DENIES  RESPONSIBILITY      313 

he  sat,  and  continued  in  conversation  with  a  lady  who 
stood  beside  him.  In  a  second  the  messenger  returned, 
and  desired  me  to  take  a  seat  on  a  sofa,  which,  as  it 
happened,  was  directly  in  line  with  Mr.  Stanton's  desk. 
In  a  few  moments  the  lady  with  whom  he  had  been  in 
conversation  withdrew.  As  she  passed  me  I  recognised 
her.  She  was  Mrs.  Kennedy,  daughter  of  ex-Secretary 
Mallory,  then  a  prisoner  in  Fort  Lafayette.  Her  face 
was  flushed  and  very  sad,  which  I  interpreted  (and 
rightly,  as  it  proved)  as  meaning  that  her  request  had 
been  denied.  The  sight  filled  me  with  indignation.  I 
resolved  at  once  to  retain  my  seat  and  let  the  Secretary 
seek  me,  as  a  gentleman  should  do.  I  was  strengthened 
in  this  determination  by  the  conviction  that  he  would 
ignore  my  plea  also,  and  I  was  resolved  to  yield  him  no 
double  victory. 

After  a  delay  of  a  few  moments,  in  which  the  Secretary 
adjusted  first  his  glasses  and  then  his  papers,  he  slowly 
approached  me,  saying,  "This  is  Mrs.  Clay,  I  presume?" 

"  And  this  Mr.  Stanton  ? "  I  replied. 

I  at  once  briefly,  but  bravely,  proceeded  with  my 
story.  I  told  him  that  my  object  in  visiting  Washington 
was  to  obtain  the  speedy  release  of  my  husband,  who  was 
dying  hourly  under  the  deprivations  and  discipline  of 
prison  life;  or,  failing  this,  to  obtain  for  him  an  early 
trial,  which  he  desired  not  to  shirk,  but  to  hasten ;  of  the 
result  of  which  we  had  no  fear,  unless  "  he  be  given  up  to 
that  triumvirate  called  the  'Military  Bureau  of  Justice,' 
of  which  you  are  one,  Mr.  Stanton  !"  This  I  said  with 
inward  trembling  and  with  eyes  brimming,  but  looking 
him  fully  in  the  face.     His  own  gaze  fell. 

"Madam,"  he  answered.  "I  am  not  your  husband's 
judge " 

"  I  know  it ! "  I  interrupted.  "  And  I  am  thankful  for 
it;  and  I  would  not  have  you  for  his  accuser  ! " 

"Neither  am  I  his  accuser!"  he  continued.      I  could 


3i4  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

scarcely  believe  I  had  heard  him  aright.  His  manner 
was  gravely  polite.  I  remember  thinking  at  that  moment, 
"  Can  this  be  the  rude  man  of  whom  I  have  heard  ?  Can 
I  have  been  misinformed  about  him  ? ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Stanton,  for  those  words,"  I  said. 
"  I  had  not  hoped  to  hear  them  from  you.  I  thought 
you  were  the  bitterest  of  my  husband's  enemies !  I 
assure  you  your  words  give  me  fresh  hope  !  I  will  tell 
the  President  at  once  of  this  cheering  interview  ! " 

At  these  expressions  Mr.  Stanton  seemed  somewhat 
confused.  I  wondered  whether  he  would  modify  or 
recall  his  words.  He  did  not,  however,  and  thanking 
him  again  for  even  that  concession,  I  withdrew. 

The  legal  friends  to  whom  I  gave  an  account  of  this 
conversation  were  less  confident  as  to  its  significance.  If 
Mr.  Stanton  was  neither  Mr.  Clay's  judge  nor  accuser, 
who  was?  Some  one  was  surely  responsible  for  his 
detention;  some  one  with  the  power  to  obstruct  justice 
was  delaying  the  trial,  which  the  first  legal  minds  in  the 
country  for  months  had  sought  to  bring  about.  If  not 
Mr.  Stanton,  could  it  be  Mr.  Holt,  whose  name  was 
already  become  one  of  abhorrence  among  the  majority 
of  Southerners?  Judge  Black  felt  sure  it  was.  But 
accusation  against  the  Judge  Advocate  General  without 
proof  was  impolitic,  with  my  husband's  safety  still  in 
the  balance.  In  a  situation  so  serious  as  the  present,  I 
should  have  preferred  to  conciliate  him. 

"  Have  you  tried  to  interest  Judge  Holt  in  your  hus- 
band's behalf?"  wrote  our  old  friend  ex-Speaker  Orr. 
"Would  not  some  little  kind  memory  of  the  past  steal 
over  him  when  you  revive  the  morning  reminiscences  of 
the  Ebbitt  House,  when  his  much-adored  wife  was  a 
shining  luminary  in  that  bright  circle?  He  would  be 
more  or  less  than  man  if  such  a  picture  did  not  move 
him.     Will  you  try  it?" 

Great,  indeed,  was  Mr.  Orr's  surprise  when  he  learned 


STANTON  DENIES  RESPONSIBILITY      315 

that  I  had  written  to  Mr.  Holt  three  times,  only  to  meet 
with  complete  silence  at  his  hands  ! 

Under  such  circumstances  it  was  wiser  to  adhere  to 
my  first  purpose ;  namely,  to  sue  for  the  privilege  of  see- 
ing Mr.  Clay  and  for  his  release  on  parole,  or  for  a  speedy 
trial.  I  was  urged  by  Judge  Black  not  to  cease  in  my 
appeals  to  the  President;  to  tell  the  Executive  of  my 
interview  with  his  Secretary  of  War,  and  in  the  meantime 
to  secure  from  General  Grant,  if  possible,  a  letter  to  the 
President,  advocating  my  plea.  I  had  already  been 
assured  by  General  Ihrie  of  his  chief's  ability  and  willing- 
ness to  serve  me.  On  the  evening  of  the  second  Sunday 
after  my  arrival  in  Washington,  therefore,  I  drove  from 
Willard's  at  seven  o'clock,  accompanied  by  Major  Echols, 
to  Lieutenant-General  Grant's  headquarters  in  George- 
town. I  found  these  to  be  established  in  what  was 
formerly  the  home  of  our  friend  Mr.  Alfred  Scott,*  of 
Alabama,  now  deceased.  Soldiers  guarded  the  entrance, 
as  became  a  military  headquarters,  and  one  came  for- 
ward to  take  my  card  as  we  drove  up.  Upon  his  return, 
Major  Echols  and  I  were  shown  at  once  to  the  General's 
reception  parlour.  Dismissing  the  officers  in  uniform 
who  stood  about,  General  Grant  received  me  courteously, 
tendering  his  hand  frankly.  I  at  once  presented  Major 
Echols,  saying  that  "  my  friend,  like  yourself,  is  a  graduate 
of  West  Point;  but,  feeling  bound  to  offer  his  allegiance 
to  his  native  South,  he  had  served  with  distinction  at 
Fort  Sumter,"  which  introduction,  I  imagined,  pleased 
the  General,  though  it  disconcerted  my  modest  escort. 

I  now  briefly,  and  in  some  trepidation  at  finding  myself 
face  to  face  with  the  "  Hero  of  the  Hour  ! "  the  "  Coming 
Man,"  "Our  next  President"  (for  by  these  and  many 
other  titles  was  the  hero  of  Appomattox  already  crowned), 
explained  as  succinctly  as  I  could  my  motive  in  calling 

*  Mr.  Scott's  daughter  is  the  wife  of  the  widely  known  Dr.  Garnett, 
of  Hot  Springs,  Arkansas. 


3i6  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

upon  him,  closing  my  remarks  with  the  assurance  that 
the  one  circumstance  prompting  me  to  ask  his  aid  was 
not  his  army  victories,  but  his  noble  conduct  to  our 
beloved  General  Lee  in  his  recent  surrender.  I  was  con- 
vinced, I  added,  that  the  man  who  had  borne  himself  so 
magnanimously  toward  a  brave  soldier  whom  he  had 
vanquished,  possessed  the  soul  to  espouse  and  sustain 
a  cause,  if  just,  though  all  the  world  opposed.  It  was  in 
this  faith  I  had  come  to  him. 

The  Federal  General  listened  very  gravely.  When  I 
had  finished  he  responded  in  his  characteristic,  quiet 
way:  "If  it  were  in  my  power,  Mrs.  Clay,  I  would  to- 
morrow open  every  prison  in  the  length  and  breadth  of 

the  land.     I  would  release  every  prisoner  unless " 

(after  a  pause)  "unless  Mr.  Davis  might  be  detained 
awhile  to  satisfy  public  clamour.  Your  husband's 
manly  surrender  entitles  him  to  all  you  ask.  I  admire 
and  honour  him  for  it,  and  anything  I  can  say  or  do  to 
assist  you  shall  be  done.     I  heartily  wish  you  success." 

I  asked  him,  in  the  course  of  our  conversation,  if  he 
would  go  with  me  to  the  White  House  the  next  day,  at 
any  hour,  day  or  evening. 

"  That  is  impossible,"  he  said.  "  I  leave  at  midnight  for 
Richmond." 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  write  what  you  have  spoken  ? " 

"With  pleasure!"  he  replied.  Going  to  the  door  he 
called,  "Julia  !" 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Grant  entered  the  room.  She  shook 
my  hand  with  the  cordiality  of  a  friend,  saying,  as  she 
did  so,  "We  have  many  mutual  friends  in  St.  Louis." 
She  then  expressed  her  deep  sympathy  for  me,  and  hoped 
her  husband  could  serve  me  with  the  President. 

In  a  few  moments  General  Grant  returned  with  the 
promised  letter.  I  thanked  him  from  a  grateful  heart. 
Upon  rising  to  go,  he  accompanied  me  half  down  the 
steps,  where,  with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  we  parted. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
Mr.  Holt  Reports  Upon  the  Case  of  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr. 

Armed  with  General  Grant's  letter,  my  hopes  at  once 
rose  high.  It  seemed  to  my  eager  and  innocent  mind 
that  an  ally  so  really  great  could  not  fail  to  convince  the 
President  and  his  Cabinet  of  the  wisdom  of  granting  my 
plea  in  whole  or  in  part.  I  began  to  feel  that  the  cul- 
mination of  my  husband's  troubles  was  now  approaching. 
I  hastened  to  send  the  letter  to  Mr.  Johnson.     It  read  as 

follows : 

"Washington,  D.  C,  Nov.  26,  1865. 
"  His  Excellency   A.Johnson, 

"President  of  the  United  States. 

"Sir:  As  it  has  been  my  habit  heretofore  to  intercede  for 
the  release  of  all  prisoners  who  I  thought  could  safely  be  left 
at  large,  either  on  parole  or  by  amnesty,  I  now  respectfully 
recommend  the  release  of  Mr.  C.  C.  Clay. 

"The  manner  of  Mr.  Clay's  surrender,  I  think,  is  a  full  guar- 
antee that  if  released  on  parole,  to  appear  when  called  for, 
either  for  trial  or  otherwise,  that  he  will  be  forthcoming. 

"Argument,  I  know,  is  not  necessary  in  this  or  like  cases, 
so  I  will  simply  say  that  I  respectfully  recommend  that  C.  C. 
Clay,  now  a  State  prisoner,  be  released  on  parole,  not  to  leave 
the  limits  of  his  State  without  your  permission,  and  to  sur- 
render himself  to  the  civil  authorities  for  trial  whenever  called 
on  to  do  so. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  would  make  a  special  point  of  fixing 
the  limits  to  a  State  only,  but  at  any  future  time  the  limits 
could  be  extended  to  the  whole  United  States,  as  well  as  if 
those  limits  were  given  at  once. 

"I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

"Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 
(Signed.)  "U.  S.  Grant,  Lieutenant  General."  ;: 

*  The  letter  here  given  is  from  a  copy  furnished  Mrs.  Clay  by  Robert 
Morrow,  Secretary  in  1866. 

317 


3i 8  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

In  my  note  accompanying  the  General's  recommenda- 
tion, I  begged  to  repeat  my  request  that  I  be  allowed  to 
visit  Mr.  Clay  at  Fortress  Monroe,  and  that  I  be  furnished 
with  copies  of  the  charges  against  him,  in  order  that  I 
might  consult  with  him  as  to  the  proper  means  to  disprove 
them,  in  the  event  of  his  being  brought  to  trial.  After  a 
two  days'  silence  on  the  part  of  the  Executive,  I  wrote 
a  note  of  inquiry  to  Mr.  Johnson.  The  reply  that  reached 
me  was  not  calculated  to  stimulate  my  erstwhile  hope- 
fulness. 

"  I  cannot  give  you  any  reply  to  your  note  of  this  inst.," 
wrote  Colonel  Robert  Johnson,  on  the  30th  of  November, 
"except  that  the  President  has  the  letter  of  General 
Grant.  No  action  has  yet  been  had.  I  will  bring  the 
matter  before  the  President  during  the  day,  and  will 
advise  you." 

And  now,  indeed,  I  began  to  be  aware  how  all-powerful 
was  the  hidden  force  that  opposed  the  taking  of  any 
action  on  my  husband's  case.  Again  and  again  there- 
after I  called  upon  President  Johnson,  pleading  at  first 
for  his  intervention  on  my  behalf;  but,  upon  the  third 
visit,  when  he  again  suggested  that  I  "see  Mr.  Stanton," 
I  could  refrain  no  longer  from  an  outburst  of  completest 
indignation.  I  was  accompanied  on  this  and  on  almost 
all  my  innumerable  later  visits  to  the  White  House  by 
Mrs.  Bouligny,  who  witnessed,  I  fear,  many  an  astonishing 
passage  at  arms  between  President  Johnson  and  me.  On 
the  occasion  just  touched  upon,  aroused  by  Mr.  Johnson's 
attempt  to  evade  the  granting  of  my  request,  I  answered 
him  promptly: 

"  I  will  not  go  to  Mr.  Stanton,  Mr.  President !  You 
issued  the  proclamation  charging  my  husband  with  crime  ! 
You  are  the  man  to  whom  I  look  for  redress  ! " 

"I  was  obliged  to  issue  it,"  Mr.  Johnson  replied,  "to 
satisfy  public  clamour.  Your  husband's  being  in  Canada 
while   Surratt  and  his   associates  were   there   made  it 


MR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE     319 

neccessary  to  name  him  and  his  companions  with  the 
others!" 

"  And  do  you  believe,  for  one  moment,  that  my  husband 
would  conspire  against  the  life  of  President  Lincoln?" 
I  burst  out  indignantly.  "  Do  you,  who  nursed  the  breast 
of  a  Southern  mother,  think  Mr.  Clay  could  be  guilty  of 
that  crime?" 

Mr.  Johnson  disclaimed  such  a  belief  at  once. 

"  Then,  on  what  grounds  do  you  detain  one  whom  you 
believe  an  innocent  man,  and  a  self -surrendered  prisoner  ? " 
I  asked. 

But  here  the  President,  as  he  did  in  many  instances 
throughout  those  long  and,  to  me,  most  active  days  in 
the  capital,  resorted  to  his  almost  invariable  habit  of 
evading  direct  issues;  yet  it  was  not  long  ere  I  was 
given  reason  to  feel  that  he,  personally,  sincerely 
wished  to  serve  me,  though  often  appearing  to  be  but 
an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  more  forceful  men,  whom 
he  lacked  the  courage  to  oppose,  and  who  were  directly 
responsible  for  my  husband's  detention.  Before  the  end 
of  December  the  President  gave  me  a  valuable  and  secret 
proof  that  his  sympathies  were  with  rather  than  against 
Mr.  Clay. 

Until  the  sixth  of  December,  nearly  seven  months  after 
my  husband's  surrender,  no  formal  charges  had  been 
filed  against  him  with  a  view  to  placing  him  on  trial,  or 
on  which  to  base  his  continued  imprisonment.  During 
that  time,  the  visits  of  counsel  being  denied  him,  there 
was  not  in  the  capital  one  who  was  vitally  concerned 
in  his  or  Mr.  Davis's  case,  though  certain  unique  aspects 
of  the  cases  of  the  two  distinguished  prisoners  of  the 
Government  had  invited  a  more  or  less  continuous 
professional  interest  in  them. 

At  the  time  of  my  reappearance  in  Washington,  though 
the  city  was  filled  with  distinguished  pardon-seekers,  and 
with  Southerners  who  had  been  summoned  on  various 


32o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

grounds,  to  explain  their  connection  with  the  late  Con- 
federate States'  Government,  interest  in  the  prisoners  at 
Fortress  Monroe  became  quickened.  The  Legislature  of 
the  State  of  Alabama  drew  up  and  forwarded  a  memorial 
to  the  President,  asking  for  Mr.  Clay's  release.  Prominent 
lawyers  besides  those  whose  letters  I  have  quoted  wrote 
volunteering  their  aid,  Senator  Garland,  Mr.  Carlisle,  and 
Frederick  A.  Aiken,  counsel  for  Mrs.  Surratt,  among 
them.  Through  Mr.  Aiken,  already  familiar  with  the 
means  employed  by  the  Military  Commission  to  convict 
their  prisoners,  I  gained  such  information  as  was  then 
available  as  to  the  probable  charges  which  would  be 
made  against  Mr.  Clay. 

"  I  send  you  the  argument  of  Assistant  Judge  Advocate 
General  Bingham,  in  the  Surratt  trial,"  he  wrote  on 
November  25th.  .  .  .  "This  argument  has  been 
distributed  broadcast  over  the  country,  and  the  opinion 
of  the  Republican  party  educated  to  think  it  true  !  It 
seems  to  me,"  he  added,  "that  a  concisely  written  argu- 
ment in  favour  of  Mr.  Clay,  on  the  evidence  as  it  stands, 
would  be  useful  with  the  President." 

In  the  midst  of  this  awakening  of  our  friends  on  Mr. 
Clay's  behalf,  the  Government's  heretofore  (from  me) 
concealed  prosecutor,  Mr.  Holt,  presented  to  the  War 
Department  his  long-delayed  and  elaborately  detailed 
"Report  on  the  case  of  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr."  On  the  face 
cf  it,  his  action  at  this  time  appeared  very  much  like  an 
eiiert  to  checkmate  any  influence  my  presence  might 
awaken  on  the  prisoner's  behalf.  Upon  learning  of  this 
movement  I  at  once  applied  to  the  War  Department  for  an 
opportunity  to  examine  the  Report.  It  was  not  accorded 
me.  After  some  days,  learning  of  Mr.  Stanton's  absence 
from  the  city,  and  acting  on  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Johnson, 
on  the  20th  of  December  I  addressed  Mr.  Holt  by  letter 
for  the  third  and  last  time.  I  asked  for  a  copy  of 
the  charges  against  my  husband,  and  also  for  the  return 


MR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE     321 

of  my  private  correspondence,  which  had  been  taken  from 
me,  in  part,  at  Macon,  and  part  from  my  home  in  Hunts- 
ville.  Days  passed  without  the  least  acknowledgment 
from  the  Judge  Advocate. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mr.  Johnson's  friendliness 
was  exhibited  toward  me;  for,  happening  to  call  upon 
him  while  the  document  was  in  his  hands,  I  told  him  of 
my  ill  success  and  growing  despair  at  the  obstacles  that 
were  presented  to  the  granting  of  my  every  request  at 
the  War  Department.*  I  begged  him  to  interpose  and 
assist  me  to  an  interview  with  Mr.  Clay,  but,  above  all,  at 
this  important  moment,  to  aid  me  in  getting  a  copy  of 
the  charges  now  formulated  against  him.  Thereupon, 
exacting  from  me  a  promise  of  complete  secrecy,  the 
President  delivered  his  official  copy  of  the  "Report" 
into  my  hands,  that  I  might  peruse  it  and  make  such 
excerpts  as  would  aid  me.  I  did  more  than  this,  however ; 
for,  hastening  back  with  it  to  the  home  of  Mrs.  A.  S. 
Parker,  which  had  been  generously  thrown  open  to  me, 
I  spent  the  night  in  copying  the  document  in  full. 

The  list  of  accusations  against  my  husband  was  long. 
It  represented  "testimony"  which  the  Bureau  of  Military 
Justice  had  spent  six  months,  and,  as  later  transpired, 
many  thousands  of  dollars,  in  collecting,  and  was  a  digest 
of  the  matter  sworn  to  in  the  Judge  Advocate's  presence. 

*  For  months  Mr.  Holt's  Report  was  steadily  refused  to  the  public. 
Referring  to  this  secretive  conduct,  in  July,  1866,  A.  J.  Rogers  said,  in 
the  House  of  Representatives,  "Secrecy  has  surrounded  and  shrouded, 
not  to  say  protected,  every  step  of  these  examinations.  In  the  words 
of  the  late  Attorney-General,  '  Most  of  the  evidence  upon  which  they 
[the  charges]  are  based  was  obtained  ?x  parte,  without  notice  to  the 
accused,  and  whilst  they  were  in  custody  in  military  prisons.  Their 
publication  might  wrong  the  Government.'  .  .  .  The  Secretary  of 
War,  February  7,  1866,  writes  to  the  President  that  the  publication 
of  the  Report  of  the  Judge  Advocate  General  is  incompatible  with  the 
public  interests.  This  report,"  continues  Mr.  Rogers,  "in  the  tes- 
timony it  quotes,  will  show  that  the  interests  of  the  country  would 
never  have  suffered  by  the  dispensing  with  illegal  secrecy,  but  that 
the  interests  and  fame  of  the  Judge  Advocate  General  himself  would 
suffer  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  truth-loving  and  justice-seeking  people  on 
earth."     A.  S. 


322  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

As  I  read  and  copied  on  during  that  night,  the  reason 
for  Mr.  Holt's  persistent  disregard  of  my  letters  became 
obvious.  No  official,  no  man  who,  for  months,  against 
the  protests  of  some  of  the  most  substantial  citizens,  the 
most  brilliant  lawyers  of  the  country,  had  been  so  de- 
terminedly engaged  in  secret  effort  to  prove  a  former 
friend  and  Congressional  associate  to  be  deserving  of  the 
gallows,  could  be  expected  to  do  anything  but  to  avoid 
a  meeting  with  the  wife  of  his  victim.  In  December,  1 860, 
when  Mr.  Clay's  position  as  a  Secessionist  was  known  to 
be  unequivocal,  Mr.  Holt,  whose  personal  convictions 
were  then  somewhat  less  clearly  declared,  had  written,  on 
the  occasion  of  my  husband's  illness,  "It  is  my  earnest 
prayer  that  a  life  adorned  by  so  many  graces  may  be  long 
spared  to  our  country,  whose  councils  so  need  its  genius 
and  patriotism!"  In  December,  1865,  basing  his 
charges  against  his  former  friend  —  a  former  United 
States  Senator,  whose  integrity  had  never  suffered  ques- 
tion ;  a  man  religious  to  the  point  of  austerity ;  a  scholar, 
of  delicate  health  and  sensibilities,  and  peculiarly  fastidi- 
ous in  the  selection  of  those  whom  he  admitted  to  in- 
timacy — ,  Mr.  Holt,  I  repeat,  basing  his  accusations 
against  such  a  one-time  friend  upon  the  purchased 
testimony,  of  social  and  moral  outcasts,  designated 
Mr.  Clay  in  terms  which  could  only  be  regarded  as  the 
outspurting  of  venomous  malice,  or  of  a  mind  rendered 
incapable  of  either  logic  or  truth  by  reason  of  an  ex- 
cessive fanaticism. 

Under  this  man's  careful  marshalling,  the  classes  of 
"crimes  which  Clay  is  perceived  to  have  inspired  and 
directed"  were  frightful  and  numerous.  The  "most 
pointed  proof  of  Clay's  cognisance  and  approval  of" 
[alleged]  "deeds  of  infamy  and  treason"  lay  in  the  depo- 
sition of  G.J.  Hyams"  (so  reads  the  Report),  "testimony 
which  illustrates  the  treacherous  and  clandestine  char- 
acter of  the  machinations  in  which  Clay  was  engaged," 


MR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE     323 

to  the  complete  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Holt.*  One  of  the 
most  curious  pieces  of  evidence  of  the  Judge  Advocate's 
really  malignant  design  in  that  virulent  "Report"  lies 
in  his  wilful  perversion  of  a  statement  which  Mr.  Clay  had 
made  by  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  War.  My  husband 
had  written  that,  at  the  time  of  seeing  Mr.  Johnson's 
Proclamation  for  his  arrest  (during  the  second  week  in 
May),  he  had  been  nearly  six  months  absent  from  Canada, 
a  fact  so  well  known  that  had  Mr.  Clay  ever  been  brought 
to  trial  a  hundred  witnesses  could  have  testified  to  its 
accuracy.  Mr.  Holt,  to  whom  the  Secretary  of  War, 
while  denying  the  access  of  counsel  to  his  prisoner,  had 
confided  Mr.  Clay's  letter,  now  altered  the  text  as  follows : 

"In  connection  with  the  testimony  in  this  case,  as 
thus  presented,  may  be  noticed  the  assertions  of  Clay  in 
his  recent  letters  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  that  at  the  date 
of  the  assassination,  he,  Clay,  had  been  absent  from 
Canada  nearly  six  months." 

The  substitution  of  the  word  "assassination"  for 
"proclamation"  made  a  difference  of  one  month,  or 
nearly  so,  in  the  calculations  by  which  Mr.  Holt  was  at- 
tempting to  incriminate  and  to  preclude  a  sympathy  for 
his  defenseless  victim,  my  husband.  After  thus  subtly 
manipulating  Mr.  Clay's  statement  in  such  way  as  to  give 
it  the  appearance  of  a  falsehood,  Mr.  Holt  next  proceeded 
to  stamp  it  as  such,  and  decreed  that  this  "remain  as  the 
judgment  of  the  Department  upon  the  communications  of 
this  false  and  insolent  traitor  !" 

"It  is  to  be  added,"  this  remarkable  Report  continues, 
"upon  the  single  point  of  the  duration  of  his  stay  in 
Canada,  that  it  is  declared  by  two  unimpeached  witnesses! 

*  Hyams,  alias  Harris,  was  one  of  the  witnesses  who,  six  months 
before  the  date  of  Mr.  Holt's  Report,  had  been  exposed  by  the  Rev. 
Stuart  Robinson,  and  who,  six  months  later,  or  less,  himself  confessed 
his  perjuries  to  the  Judiciary  Committee.     A.  S. 

t  But  not  unimpeachable,  as  later  events  proved.  They  were  after- 
ward denounced  by  Mr.  Holt  as  unprincipled  perjurers  and  the  cause 
of  all  his  trouble.     A,  S. 


324  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

that  he  was  seen  by  them  in  Canada  in  February  last. 
It  may  be  said  that  this  Bureau  has  now  "no  doubt  that 
it  will  be  enabled,  by  means  of  additional  witnesses,  to 
fix  the  term  of  Clay's  stay  in  Canada  even  more  pre- 
cisely than  it  has  already  been  made  to  appear."* 

Having  now  carried,  through  many  pages,  his  charges 
of  numerous  and  basest  crimes  against  Mr.  Clay,  Mr. 
Holt  sums  up  his  Report  thus: 

"  It  may,  therefore,  be  safely  assumed  that  the  charge 
against  Clement  C.  Clay,  of  having  incited  the  assassination 
of  the  President,  is  relieved  of  all  improbability  by  his 
previous  history  and  criminal  surroundings i '" 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  my  woman's  mind  at 
once  recognised  the  real  atrocity  of  these  charges  in  that 
first  reading,  or  identified  the  palpable  inaccuracies  in 
them;  nor  that  fortifying  deductions  immediately  made 
themselves  plain  to  me.  As  was  said  of  another  Holt 
document,  sent  later  to  the  House  by  the  Judge  Advocate 
General  himself,  every  sentence  of  the  Report  before  me 
was  "redolent  with  the  logic  of  prosecution,  revealing 
something  of  the  personal  motive.  There  was  certainly 
nothing  in  it  of  the  amicus  curiae  spirit,  nothing  of  the 
searcher  after  truth ;  nothing  but  the  avidity  of  the  mili- 
tary prosecutor  for  blood." 

At  that  time,  denied  access  to  my  husband,  his  papers 
and  journal  scattered,  my  own  retained  by  the  War 
Department,  I  possessed  nothing  with  which  to  combat 
Judge  Holt's  accusations,  save  an  instinctive  conviction 

*  In  fact,  as  will  have  been  seen  elsewhere,  Mr.  Clay  arrived  in  South 
Carolina  on  the  fourth  of  February,  1865,  after  a  full  month's  journey- 
ing by  stormy  sea  from  Nova  Scotia  to  Bermuda;  thence  on  the  ill- 
fated  Rattlesnake ,  which,  failing  to  make  its  way  into  port  at  Wilming- 
ton, now  in  the  hands  of  the  Federals,  with  delay  and  circumlocution, 
ran  the  blockade  at  Charleston,  only  to  perish  under  the  very  ramparts 
of  Fort  Moultrie.  His  return,  therefore,  was  sufficiently  dramatic,  and 
known  to  hundreds  of  truly  unimpeachable  witnesses,  had  the  Judge 
Advocate  allowed  Mr.  Clay  to  know  the  charges  against  him  or  given 
him  an  opportunity  for  denial.     A.  S. 


lMR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE    325 

that  when  once  the  charges  were  made  known  to  Mr. 
Clay,  he  would  be  able  to  refute  them. 

That  this  elaborately  detailed,  this  secretly  and 
laboriously  gathered  category  of  crime  was  destined 
months  hence  to  be  turned  to  the  open  contempt  and 
shame  of  the  Judge  who  drew  it  up,  I  had  no  consoling 
prescience,  and  not  even  the  most  astute  of  my  coun- 
sellors foresaw.  Three  months  after  Mr.  Clay's  conditional 
release,  in  April,  1866,  however,  Representative  Rogers, 
in  his  report  to  the  Judiciary  Committee  appointed  by 
the  House,  revealed  to  the  body  there  assembled  the 
"utterly  un-American  proceedings  of  the  Military 
Bureau"  and  the  strange  conduct  of  its  head. 

After  a  detailed  report  on  the  testimony  which,  having 
been  given  to  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice,  the  wit- 
nesses now  acknowledged  before  the  House  Committee 
to  have  been  false,  Mr.  Rogers  continued : 

"Who  originated  this  plot  I  cannot  ascertain.  I  am 
deeply  impressed  that  there  is  guilt  somewhere,  and  I 
earnestly  urge  upon  the  House  an  investigation  of  the 
origin  of  the  plot,  concocted  to  alarm  the  nation,  to 
murder  and  dishonour  innocent  men,  and  to  place  the 
Executive  in  the  undignified  position  of  making,  under 
proclamation,  charges  which  cannot  .  .  .  stand  a 
preliminary  examination  before  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
.  .  .  But  that  no  time  was  left  me  to  pursue  to  the 
head  the  villainies  I  detected  in  the  hand,  I  might  have 
been  able  plainly  to  tell  Congress  and  the  country  that  if, 
in  this  plot,  we  had  a  Titus  Oates  in  Conover,*  so  also  we 
had  a  Shaftesbury  somewhere." 

Many  newspapers,  the  New  York  Herald  and  Washing- 
ton Intelligencer  in  the  lead,  also  began  to  reiterate  the 
demand  for  a  public  inquiry  into  the  strange  workings  of 

*  Conover  was  the  chief  witness  in  the  cases  of  Mrs.  Surratt  and  her 
companions,  and  Mr.  Holt's  charges  against  Mr.  Clay  were  based  on 
his  testimony  and  that  of  others  who  had  been  drilled  in  their  parts  by 
Conover.     A.  S. 


326  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice.  Rumours  ran  over  the 
country  that  "persons  in  high  places  who  deemed  it  for 
their  best  interest  to  show  complicity  on  the  part  of 
Davis  and  others  in  the  assassination  of  Lincoln,  by 
false  testimony  or  otherwise,  will  find  themselves  held  up 
to  public  gaze  in  a  manner  they  little  dream  of . "  * 

Two  months  later  Mr.  Holt  issued  a  pamphlet  which, 
under  the  heading,  "Vindication  of  Judge  Holt  from  the 
Foul  Slanderers  of  Traitors,  Confessed  Perjurers  and 
Suborners  acting  in  the  interest  of  Jefferson  Davis,"  was 
scattered  broadcast  over  the  country.  It  is  improbable 
that  any  parallel  to  this  snarl  of  defiance  was  ever  sent 
out  by  a  weak  but,  by  no  means,  an  apologetic  offender 
in  high  office.  The  pamphlet  covers  eight  full  pages  of 
admissions  as  to  the  deceptions  which  he  claimed  had 
been  practised  upon  him,  but  contains  no  line  of  regret 
for  the  tyranny  he  had  exercised,  and  which  had  con- 
demned distinguished  and  innocent  men  to  lie  for  months 
in  damp  dungeons,  prey  to  a  thousand  physical  ills  and 
mental  torments.  Mr.  Holt's  vindication  began  as  follows : 
"  To  all  loyal  men  !  In  the  name  of  simple  justice  .  .  . 
your  attention  is  respectfully  invited  to  the  subjoined 
article  f  from  the  Washington  Chronicle, %  of  yesterday, 

*  The  public,  however,  was  not  destined  to  be  treated  to  a  spectacle 
so  likely  to  react  to  the  Government's  dishonour.  Mr.  Holt,  who  for 
a  year  caused  to  be  denied  to  the  prisoners  (one  of  whom  had  been  a 
Cabinet  Minister,  the  other  a  United  States  Senator)  even  the  visits 
of  counsel,  now,  for  some  forever  unexplained  reason,  instead  of  arrest- 
ing the  perjurer  Conover,  after  his  admissions  in  the  Committee  room 
of  the  House,  talked  to  him  kindly,  and  extended  him  the  courtesy  of 
a  trip  to  New  York,  in  order  that  he  might  procure  further  testimony. 
Once  arrived,  the  polite  swindler  excused  himself  to  his  companion, 
and,  bowing  himself  out,  "was  not  seen  by  him  thereafter,"  said  Mr. 
Holt;  and  he  adds  naively,  "and  up  to  this  time  he  has  not  communi- 
cated with  me,  nor  has  he  made  any  effort,  as  I  believe,  to  produce  the 
witnesses!"     A.  S. 

f  In  part  an  interview  with  Mr.  Holt,  and  the  whole  most  obviously 
inspired  by  him. 

%  Practically  the  only  voice  now  raised  in  an  attempt  to  explain  or 
justify  the  Advocate  General's  uniqtie  methods.  While  denying  his 
knavishness,  it  had  the  singular  appearance  of  developing  his  foolish- 
ness.    A.  S. 


MR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE      327 

as  representing  a  perfectly  true  vindication  of  myself 
from  the  atrocious  calumny  with  which  traitors  and 
suborners  are  now  so  basely  pursuing  me.     Joseph  Holt," 

"It  is  clear,"  says  this  "vindicatory"  excerpt,  "that  a 
conspiracy  has  been  formed  to  defame  the  Judge  Advocate 
General  and  the  Bureau  of  Military  Justice.  ...  At 
the  bottom  of  this  conspiracy,  or  actively  engaged  in 
executing  its  purposes,  is  Sanford  Conover,  who,  after 
having  been  fully  proved  guilty  of  subornation  or  perjury,* 
has  unquestionably  sold  himself  to  the  friends  of  Davis  f 
and  is  seeking  with  them  to  destroy  the  reputation  of  a 
public  officer  J  whose  confidence  he  gained,  as  we  shall 
hereafter  see,  by  the  same  solemn  protestations,  and 
which  confidence  he  subsequently  most  treacherously 
abused.  ...  A  more  cold-blooded  plot  for  the 
assassination  of  character  [sic]  has  never  been  concocted 
in  any  age  or  country  ! " 

It  will  be  seen,  Mr.  Holt  now  overlooked  the  months 
in  which  he,  supported  in  his  secret  work  by  the  Secretary 
of  War,  and  with  almost  unlimited  powers  vested  in  him, 
had  been  engaged  in  plotting  with  the  same  tools,  though 
warned  of  their  evil  careers,  against  the  lives  of  gentlemen 
of  irreproachable  character  and  antecedents;  against 
my  husband,  who  had  with  confidence  in  its  integrity 
placed  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  Government  in  the 
expectation  of  a  fair  and  impartial  trial. 

Mr.  Holt's  "Vindication"  continues:  "Conover,  though 
now  wholly  degraded,  was  then,  so  far  as  was  known  to 
the  Government,  without  a  stain  upon  his  character." 

*  Conover  had  obviated  the  necessity  for  proving,  by  confessing,  his 
own  infamy.     A.  S. 

f  Now  for  sixteen  months  a  prisoner  in  Fortress  Monroe,  and  denied 
trial  or  counsel !     A.  S. 

%  It  is  hard  to  believe  that,  if  Mr.  Holt's  reputation  had  survived  the 
doubt  thrown  upon  it  by  the  House  Committee,  in  the  preceding  July, 
it  could  be  seriously  injured  by  anything  that  might  be  averred  by  so 
vile  a  man  as  his  former  ally,  Conover.     A.  S. 


328  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

(The  thoughtful  reader  must  naturally  turn  to  the 
accusations  of  the  Reverend  Stuart  Robinson,  made 
publicly  to  the  Government  representative,  Hon.  H.  H. 
Emmons,  and,  by  the  press,  scattered  through  the 
country  fifteen  months  previous  to  this  declaration  in 
Mr.  Holt's  "  Vindication.")  "  Hence,  when  he  wrote  me," 
continues  the  aggrieved  Judge  Advocate  General,  "alleg- 
ing the  existence  of  testimony  implicating  Davis  and 
others,  and  his  ability  to  find  the  witnesses,  and  proffering 
his  services  to  do  so,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  his 
statements  and  proposals  as  made  in  good  faith  and  en- 
titled to  credit  and  to  consideration." 

In  the  "Report"  on  the  case  of  Mr.  Clay,  dated 
December  6,  1865,  which,  by  the  courtesy  of  the  President, 
I  was  enabled  to  see,  Mr.  Holt's  willing  adoption  of  the 
fabrications  of  his  unscrupulous  "witnesses"  was  ap- 
parent in  every  phrase.  In  fact,  its  spirit  of  malice 
terrified  me.  I  kept  faith  with  Mr.  Johnson  and  told  no 
one  of  the  knowledge  I  now  possessed;  but  I  communi- 
cated some  of  the  main  points  of  the  "Report"  to  Judge 
Black  and  other  advisers,  and,  resolving  that  I  would 
neve1"  cease  until  I  attained  my  point,  I  redoubled  my 
pleadings  with  the  President  for  the  permission  to  visit 
my  husband,  which  request  I  now  knew  it  would  be  useless 
to  make  at  the  War  Department.  When  I  returned  the 
"Report"  to  the  President,  I  was  keyed  to  a  high  pitch 
of  alarm  by  the  spirit  shown  by  the  Advocate  General, 
and  my  requests  now  took  another  form. 

"  It  is  said,  Mr.  Johnson,  that  you  have  refused  to  allow 
the  Military  Court,  composed  of  Messrs.  Holt,  Speed  and 
Stanton,  to  try  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay."  The  President 
bowed  affirmatively. 

"Then  I  pray  you  to  give  me  your  solemn  oath  in  the 
presence  of  the  living  God,  that  you  will  never,  while  in 
this  Presidential  chair,  yield  those  two  innocent  men  into 
the  hands  of  that  blood-seeking  Military  Commission  !  " 


MR.  HOLT  REPORTS  UPON  THE  CASE     329 

I  was  greatly  agitated,  and  weeping.  Mr.  Johnson, 
however,  was  calm  and  seemingly  deeply  in  earnest  as  he 
answered  me, 

"  I  promise  you,  Mrs.  Clay ;  trust  me  !  " 

"I  will;  I  do  !"  I  cried,  "but  I  would  like  you  to  em- 
phasise this  sacred  oath,  remembering  the  precious  lives 
that  hang  upon  it." 

Upon  this  Mr.  Johnson  raised  his  hand  and  repeated 
his  promise,  adding  again,  "trust  me  !  " 

After  this  interview  I  felt  a  sense  of  security  which 
gave  me  comparative  repose  of  mind,  but,  nevertheless, 
I  called  almost  daily,  to  fortify  Mr.  Johnson  against  the 
continued  machinations  of  those  officials  whose  influence 
was  so  inimical  to  my  husband  and  Mr.  Davis.  I  now 
began  to  perceive  that  Judge  Black,  Senator  Garland  and 
others  had  said  truly  when  they  remarked  to  me  that  Mr. 
Johnson  might  be  moved,  if  at  all,  by  his  heart  rather 
than  by  his  head.  He  had  already  given  me  a  strong 
proof  of  this ;   soon  he  gave  me  others. 

The  Christmas  season  was  approaching,  and  while  all 
about  me  were  arranging  their  little  gaieties  and  sur- 
prises, the  realisation  of  Mr.  Clay's  isolation  and  discom- 
forts and  peril  became  more  and  more  poignant.  To 
add  to  the  sadness  of  our  situation,  letters  from  Hunts- 
ville  containing  pathetic  allusions  to  the  failing  health  of 
my  husband's  mother  now  began  to  follow  each  other 
rapidly.  I  was  urged  to  act  quickly  if  she  and  her  son 
were  to  meet  on  earth  again.  In  my  letters  to  Mr.  Clay 
I  dared  not  tell  him  of  this  approaching  disaster,  for 
between  himself  and  his  mother  an  unusually  tender  rela- 
tionship existed.  I  dreaded  the  alarm  such  news  might 
give  him,  alone  and  ill  in  his  dismal  prison,  exhausted 
as  he  was  with  waiting  for  direct  communication  with 
me.  I  had  already  been  a  month  in  Washington  without 
having  effected  a  meeting  with  him.  Under  the  circum- 
stances, the  headway  gained  seemed  inappreciable .    With 


330  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

a  copy  of  Holt's  "  Report "  in  my  possession,  I  resolved  to 
go  on  to  New  York  for  consultation  with  Mr.  0 'Conor, 
Mr.  Shea,  and  Mr.  Greeley,  so  soon  as  I  should  receive 
some  definite  concession  from  the  President. 

I  now  told  Mr.  Johnson  of  Mrs.  Clay's  condition,  and 
begged  him  to  release  my  husband,  if  only  to  permit  him 
one  interview  with  his  probably  dying  mother,  to  return 
again  to  custody  if  the  President  so  wished ;  or,  failing  the 
granting  of  this,  to  allow  me  to  visit  him  in  prison.  At 
last,  after  much  reiteration  on  my  part,  Mr.  Johnson 
yielded ;  he  promised  that  he  would  issue  the  permit  for 
my  visit  to  Fort  Monroe  on  his  own  responsibility  in  a  few 
days ;  that  I  might  rely  upon  receiving  it  upon  my  return 
from  the  metropolis. 

Hastening  to  New  York,  I  was  soon  made  aware  by 
Messrs.  O 'Conor,  Shea  and  Greeley,  who  called  upon  me 
severally,  that  my  one  course  now  was  to  persist  in  my 
effort  to  precipitate  a  trial  for  my  husband,  or  to  procure 
his  release  on  parole,  in  which  these  gentlemen  stood 
ready  to  supplement  me,  and,  upon  the  announcement  of 
a  trial,  to  defend  Mr.  Clay. 

My  interview  with  Mr.  Greeley  took  place  in  one  of  the 
public  corridors  of  the  New  York  hotel,  now  thronging 
with  Southern  guests,  and,  as  I  sat  beside  him  on  a  settle, 
in  earnest  conversation  with  the  fatherly  old  man,  his  bald 
"  temple  of  thought "  gleaming  under  the  gaslights,  which 
threw  their  fullest  brilliancy  upon  us,  I  remember  seeing 
several  prominent  Southern  generals  then  registered  at  the 
hotel  glance  repeatedly  at  us,  and  always  with  a  look  of 
surprise  that  said  very  plainly,  "  Well!  If  there  isn't  Mrs. 
Clem.  Clay  hobnobbing  with  that  old  Abolitionist !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

President  Johnson  Interposes 

Mr.  Johnson  kept  his  word.  Late  in  December  I 
found  myself  on  my  way  to  Baltimore  with  the  Presi- 
dent's autographed  permit  in  hand,  that  would  admit 
me  to  my  husband's  prison.  I  left  Washington  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  27th  of  December,  going  by  train  to  Bal- 
timore. Here,  crossing  the  city  in  an  omnibus  with  other 
passengers,  to  the  wharf  of  the  "New  Line  Steamers,"  I 
was  soon  on  board  the  boat,  the  George  Leary,  bound  for 
Norfolk  and  Fortress  Monroe.  I  was  so  keenly  alive  to 
my  own  lonely  condition  that  I  could  not  bring  myself 
even  to  register  my  name  among  the  list  of  happier  pas- 
sengers. Everywhere  about  me  gaily  dressed  people 
thronged.  I  saw  among  them  General  Granger  and  wife, 
his  staff,  and  ladies  of  the  party.  As  the  George  Leary 
pulled  out  from  her  moorings,  the  brass  band  of  a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  bound  for  Norfolk  began  to  play  sweet, 
old-time  airs.  I  had  no  desire  to  linger  among  the  care- 
free throng,  and,  calling  the  stewardess,  handed  her  a 
gold-piece,  saying,  "  Can  you  sign  for  me  or  get  me  a  state- 
room?    I  only  go  to  Fortress  Monroe." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned,  regarding  me  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  Lady  !"  she  asked,  "ain't  you  the  wife  of  one  of  those 
gentlemen  down  at  the  Fort?" 

"  Yes  !  "  I  answered.  "  I  am  the  wife  of  Mr.  Clay,  the 
prisoner !  " 

Thereupon  she  opened  her  hand,  displaying  my  gold- 
piece,  saying,  "The  captain  says  he  can't  take  any  fare 

33* 


332  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

from  you.  He'll  be  here  in  a  little  while !  "  And  she 
moved  away. 

In  a  few  moments  the  tall,  gaunt  Captain  Blakeman 
stood  before  me. 

"Are  you  Mrs.  Clay  ?"  he  asked.  "  Wife  of  the  prisoner 
at  Fortress  Monroe?" 

Upon  receiving  my  affirmative  answer,  the  Captain 
spoke  earnestfy. 

"  Mrs.  Clay,  you  have  my  deep  sympathy.  I'm  a  regular 
Down-Easter  myself— a  Maine  man ;  but  for  forty  years 
I've  plied  a  boat  between  Northern  and  Southern  cities; 
and  I  know  the  Southern  people  well.  I  think  it  is  a 
damned  shame  the  way  the  Government  is  behaving 
toward  you  and  Mrs.  Davis  !  " 

For  a  moment  the  tears  blinded  me,  seeing  which  the 
Captain  at  once  withdrew,  comprehending  the  thanks  he 
saw  I  could  not  utter.  However,  when  the  gong  sounded 
for  supper,  he  returned,  and  with  kindly  tact  led  me  to  a 
place  beside  him  at  the  table,  though  I  assured  him  I 
wanted  nothing.  At  my  obvious  lack  of  appetite  he 
showed  a  very  woman's  thoughtfulness,  himself  preparing 
the  viands  before  me  while  he  urged  me  "to  drink  my 
coffee.  You  must  take  something,"  he  said  from  time  to 
time,  whenever  he  perceived  a  lagging  interest  in  the 
dishes  before  me.  Nor  did  this  complete  his  kindnesses, 
for  on  the  following  morning,  as  I  left  the  boat,  Captain 
Blakeman  handed  me  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written : 

"  New  Line  Steamers,  Baltimore,  December  27,  1865. 
"Will  please  pass  free  Mrs.  C.  C.  Clay,  rooms  and  meals 
included,  to  all  points  as  she  wishes,  and  oblige, 

"S.  Blakeman, 
"Commanding  Steamer  George  Leary." 

"  I  hope  you  will  use  this  pass  as  often  as  you  need  it," 
he  said. 

We  arrived  at  Fortress  Monroe  at  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning.    As  I  stepped  from  the  gangplank,  the  scene 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       333 

about  me  was  black  and  bleak,  the  air  wintry.  Save  for 
a  few  dozing  stevedores  here  and  there,  whom  I  soon  per- 
ceived, the  wharf  was  quite  deserted.  It  had  been  my 
intention,  upon  my  arrival,  to  go  directly  to  the  little 
Hygeia  Hotel  just  outside  the  Fort,  but  upon  the  advice  of 
Captain  Blakeman  I  accepted  the  shelter  offered  me  by 
the  clerk  in  charge  of  the  wharf,  and  rested  until  daylight 
in  his  snug  little  room  just  off  from  the  office. 

Just  before  leaving  Washington  I  had  written  to  Dr. 
Craven,  telling  him  of  my  intended  visit  to  the  prison, 
and  asking  him  to  meet  me  at  the  little  hotel.  I  now,  at 
the  first  streak  of  dawn,  still  acting  upon  the  suggestions  of 
the  kind  captain,  found  a  messenger  and  sent  him  with  a 
note  to  General  Miles,  telling  him  of  my  arrival  with  the 
President's  permit  to  see  my  husband,  and  asking  that  an 
ambulance  be  sent  to  convey  me  to  the  Fort;  and  I 
despatched  a  second  to  Dr.  Craven  to  tell  him  my  where- 
abouts. Unknown  to  me,  that  friendly  physician,  whose 
humane  treatment  of  Mr.  Davis  and  my  husband  had 
brought  upon  him  the  disapproval  of  the  War  Depart- 
ment, had  already  been  removed  from  his  station  at  the 
Fort.  My  messenger  found  him,  nevertheless,  and  upon 
receipt  of  my  message  he  came  and  made  himself 
known  to  me.  His  words  were  few,  and  not  of  a  charac- 
ter to  cheer  one  in  my  forlorn  condition. 

"Look  for  no  kindness,  Mrs.  Clay,"  he  said,  "at  the 
hands  of  my  successor,  Dr.  Cooper.  He  is  the  blackest  of 
Black  Republicans,  and  may  be  relied  upon  to  show  the 
prisoners  little  mercy." 

Our  interview  was  brief,  and,  as  the  Fort  ambulance 
was  seen  approaching,  the  Doctor  left  me  hurriedly. 
"For,"  said  he,  "it  will  do  neither  you  nor  the  prisoners 
any  good  if  you  are  seen  talking  with  me."  He  had 
scarcely  disappeared  in  the  grey  morning  when  the  escort 
from  the  Fort  arrived.  The  vehicle  was  manned  by  two 
handsome    Union    soldiers,    one,    Major    Hitchcock    of 


334  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

General  Miles 's  staff,  and  the  other  Lieutenant  Muhlen- 
berg, a  grandson,  as  I  afterward  learned,  of  the  author  of 
"I  would  not  live  alway."  Months  afterward,  when 
Mr.  Clay  left  the  Fortress,  he  carried  with  him  the  little 
volume  containing  Bishop  Muhlenberg's  verses,  a  gift 
from  the  young  lieutenant, 

Arrived  at  the  Fort,  I  was  taken  at  once  to  the  head- 
quarters of  General  Miles,  and  conducted  to  a  room  com- 
modiously  and  even  luxuriously  furnished.  In  a  short 
time  the  General  made  his  appearance.  He  was  polite 
and  even  courteous  in  the  examination  of  my  passport, 
which  he  scanned  carefully;  but  his  manner  was  non- 
committal as  he  politely  asked  me  to  "be  seated."  I 
seated  myself  and  waited.  The  General  withdrew. 
After  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments,  an  orderly  appeared, 
bearing  upon  a  salver  a  tempting  breakfast;  but  I,  who 
had  spent  months  in  seeking  the  privilege  I  had  now  come 
to  claim,  could  touch  nothing.  I  declined  the  food,  say- 
ing I  would  wait  and  breakfast  with  my  husband.  The 
orderly  looked  perplexed,  but  removed  the  tray;  and  now 
a  dreary  and  inexplicable  wait  began,  interbroken  with 
first  a  nervous,  then  an  indignant,  and  at  last  a  tearful 
inquiry.  During  the  morning  I  affected  a  nonchalance 
wholly  at  variance  with  my  real  feelings.  Picking  up  a 
book  that  lay  at  my  elbow  on  the  table,  I  was  surprised  to 
see  a  familiar  name  upon  the  fly-leaf.  I  commented  upon 
the  luxury  of  the  apartment  when  next  General  Miles 
entered,  and  added,  "  These  books  seem  to  have  been  Gov- 
ernor Wise's  property. ' '  The  General  was  quick  to  defend 
himself  from  any  suggestion  that  might  lie  in  my  words. 
He  replied  at  once.  "  These  headquarters  were  furnished 
by  General  Butler  before  I  was  sent  here  !" 

Midday  came  and  still  the  President's  autographed 
permit,  which  to  me  had  seemed  so  powerful  a  document, 
was  not  honoured.  A  savoury  luncheon  was  now  brought 
in,  but  a  nausea  of  nervousness  had  seized  me  and  I  could 


'.   ^..■■■■'■.■'■/■■■■V.V-,.;.-. 


DR.  HENRY  C.  VOGELL 
Fortress  Monroe,  1866 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       335 

not  eat  a  morsel.  My  excitement  increased  momentarily, 
until  the  distress  of  mind  and  apprehension  were  wholly 
beyond  my  control.  I  now  implored  General  Miles  to 
let  me  see  my  husband,  if  only  for  a  moment ;  to  explain 
this  delay  in  the  face  of  the  President's  order.  I  begged 
him  to  allow  me  to  telegraph  to  Washington ;  but  to  all 
my  pleadings  his  only  reply  was  to  urge  me  to  "be  calm." 
He  assured  me  he  regretted  the  delay,  but  that  "his 
orders"  were  such  that  he  could  neither  admit  me  to  my 
husband's  room,  nor  allow  me  to  use  the  Government 
wires  at  present. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  faint  with  pleadings 
and  worn  with  indignation  and  fears  at  the  unknown 
powers  which  dared  thus  to  obstruct  the  carrying  out  of 
the  President's  orders,  not  knowing  what  might  yet  be 
before  me,  my  self-possession  entirely  deserted  me.  I 
remember,  during  my  hysterical  weeping,  crying  out  to 
General  Miles,  "  If  you  are  ever  married,  I  pray  God  your 
wife  may  never  know  an  hour  like  this  ! ' ' 

In  the  midst  of  an  uncontrollable  paroxysm  which 
seized  me  at  last,  Dr.  Vogell,  who  has  been  variously 
designated  as  the  private  secretary  and  instructor  of 
General  Miles,  entered.  During  the  day  General  Miles 
had  presented  the  Doctor  to  me,  and,  in  his  subsequent 
passing  and  repassing  through  the  room,  we  had  from 
time  to  time  exchanged  a  remark.  He  was  a  tall,  pictu- 
resque man,  of  possibly  sixty  years.  At  the  sight  of  my 
culminating  misery,  Dr.  Vogell  could  bear  the  distressful 
scene  no  longer.  He  cried  out  impulsively,  "Miles,  for 
God's  sake,  let  the  woman  go  to  her  husband  !  " 

Unhappily,  this  manly  outburst,  though  it  had  its  own 
message  of  sympathy  for  me,  failed  as  utterly  to  move 
the  commanding  General  Miles  as  had  my  previous 
urgings.  In  the  months  that  followed,  Dr.  Vogell  often 
called  upon  me  clandestinely  in  Washington  (announced 
as  "  Mr.  Brown  "),  to  say  that  "  a  friend  of  yours  was  quite 


336  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

well  this  morning,  and  desired  his  love  given  you ! " 
The  recollection  of  his  kindnesses  lives  imperishable  in 
my  memory,  but  especially  vivid  is  that  first  upwelling 
sympathy  during  the  painful  waiting  at  the  Fort. 

General  Miles  seemed  not  untouched  by  my  pleadings, 
but,  it  was  evident,  he  felt  himself  subject  to  a  superior 
power  which  forced  him  to  refuse  them.  His  manner 
throughout,  in  fact,  was  courteous  and  apologetic. 
Despite  my  agony  of  mind,  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
ere  the  President's  order  was  honoured.  Then  General 
Miles  entered,  and,  with  an  appearance  of  completest 
relief,  consigned  me,  tear-stained  and  ill,  to  the  care  of 
Lieutenant  Stone,  who  conducted  me  to  Mr.  Clay's  prison. 

All  day  my  husband,  to  whom  there  had  penetrated  a 
rumour  of  my  coming,  had  been  waiting  for  me,  himself 
tortured  by  fears  for  my  safety  and  by  the  mystery 
of  my  delay.  The  gloomy  corridors,  in  which  soldiers 
patrolled  night  and  day,  guarding  the  two  delicate 
prisoners  of  State,  were  already  darkening  with  the 
early  evening  shadows  when,  at  last,  I  saw  my  husband, 
martyr  to  his  faith  in  the  honour  of  the  Government, 
standing  within  the  grating,  awaiting  me.  The  sight 
of  his  tall,  slender  form,  his  pale  face  and  whitened  hair, 
awaiting  me  behind  those  dungeon  bars,  affected  me 
terribly.  My  pen  is  too  feeble  to  convey  the  weakness 
that  overcame  me  as  Lieutenant  Stone  inserted  and 
turned  the  key  in  the  massive  creaking  lock  and  admitted 
me ;  nor  shall  I  attempt  to  revive  here  the  brief  hours 
that  followed,  with  their  tumultuous  telling  over  of  the 
happenings  of  the  past  months  and  our  hurried  planning 
for  the  future. 

I  returned  to  the  capital  full  of  sorrow  and  indignation. 
My  adventure  at  Fortress  Monroe  had  revealed  to  me,  far 
more  fully  than  I  previously  had  suspected  was  possible, 
the  struggle  for  power  that  was  now  going  on  between  the 
Secretary  of  War,   Mr.    Stanton,   on  the  one  side,   and 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       337 

on  the  other,  President  Johnson,  by  whose  courtesy 
or  timidity  this  official  still  retained  his  portfolio.  I 
resolved  to  relate  my  entire  experience  at  Fortress 
Monroe  to  the  President  at  the  first  opportunity. 

In  the  meantime,  my  husband,  with  whom  I  had  left 
a  digest  of  Holt's  report,  upon  a  careful  perusal  of  it, 
had  been  greatly  aroused.  By  the  courtesy  of  a  secret 
friend,  he  hastened  to  send  me  a  list  of  persons  who  could, 
if  called  upon,  readily  testify  to  his  whereabouts  during 
certain  periods  described  in  the  charges  against  him. 
He  urged  me  to  see  the  President,  and  not  to  cease  in  my 
efforts  to  obtain  his  release  on  parole.  His  condition  of 
mind  as  expressed  in  this  communication  was,  it  was 
evident,  one  of  intense  excitement. 

"You  must  not  get  discouraged!"  he  wrote.  "My 
life  depends  upon  it,  I  fear!  Since  the  days  of  Cain  and 
Judas,  men  may  take  life  for  money  or  some  other  selfish 
end.  As  innocent  men  as  I  am  have  been  judicially 
murdered,  and  I  do  not  feel  secure  from  it,  although 
God  knows  I  feel  innocent  of  crime  against  the  United 
States  or  any  citizen  thereof.  As  to  my  declaring  my 
purpose  to  surrender  to  meet  the  charge  of  assassination, 
my  unwillingness  to  fly  from  such  charge,  my  preferring 
death  to  living  with  that  brand  on  me,  my  desire  to 
exculpate  Mr.  Davis,  myself  and  the  South  from  it,  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do. 

"Judge  Holt  is  determined  to  sacrifice  me  for  reasons 
given  you*      He  may  do  it  if  I  am  not  allowed  liberty  to 

*  In  the  preparation  for  the  publication  of  these  Memoirs,  I  found 
myself  continually  lighting  upon  evidences  of  irregularity  in  the  Gov- 
ernment's proceedings  against  Mr.  Clay.  I  was  met  constantly  by  what 
appeared  to  be  a  persistent  and  inexplicable  persecution  of  Messrs. 
Davis  and  Clay  (if  not  a  plot  against  them,  as  hinted  by  Representa- 
tive Rogers)  at  the  hands  of  the  War  Department,  acting  through 
Mr.  Joseph  Holt.  I  encountered  charges,  not  ambiguously  made 
against  Mr.  Holt,  of  malice,  and  of  rancour  which  would  be  satisfied 
only  with  the  "judicial  murder"  of  the  prisoners  in  his  hands.  Charges 
of  malice  and  meanness  have  been  made  against  him  by  living  men  as 
frequently  as  by  those  who  have  passed  away;  men,  moreover,  whose 


338  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

seek  witnesses  and  prepare  my  defense;  or,  if  I  am  sub- 
jected to  the  mockery  of  trial  by  Military  Court,  when 
all  the  charges  he  can  make  may  be  brought  against  me 
in  a  great  drag-net." 

As  a  step  toward  securing  an  early  interview,  and  also 
because    the    President's    daughters,    Mrs.    Stover    and 

integrity  of  purpose  has  never  been  challenged.  A  rather  general  con- 
demnation of  Mr.  Holt  appears  in  certain  correspondence  of  the  six- 
ties. It  was  uttered  publicly  in  the  press  in  the  early  and  middle  por- 
tion of  that  decade.  In  the  pamphlet  alluded  to  and  quoted  from  in 
Chapter  XXII.  of  these  "Memoirs,"  the  Rev.  Stuart  Robinson  had 
quoted  Mr.  Crittenden,  of  Kentucky,  and  another,  to  show  the  peculiar 
estimate  in  which  Mr.  Holt  was  then  held.  "I  know  little,"  wrote  Mr. 
Robinson,  in  June  of  '65,  "either  of  the  personal  or  public  character  of 
Mr.  Holt.  .  .  .  The  only  well-defined  impression  I  have  of  his  per- 
sonal character  is  gained  from  two  remarks  concerning  him  in  i86i-'62. 
The  first,  that  of  a  venerable  Christian  lady,  of  the  old-fashioned  coun- 
try type,  made  to  me:  'Joe  Holt,  Sir,  is  the  only  young  man  I  ever  knew 
that  left  this  country  without  leaving  one  friend  behind  him  in  it ! ' 
The  other,  the  fierce  retort  of  the  venerable  Crittenden,  to  a  Cabinet 
officer,  reported  to  me  by  Governor  Morehead:  'Joseph  Holt,  of  Ken- 
tucky, did  you  say,  Sir  ?  I  tell  you,  Sir,  by  Heaven  !  there  is  no  such 
man  as  Joseph  Holt,  of  Kentucky!'" 

In  addition  to  such  contemporaneous  public  utterances  concerning 
Mr.  Holt,  I  have  learned  much  that  is  corroborative  by  word  of  mouth 
from  men  whose  opinions  have  been  softened  by  time,  and  whose  con- 
spicuous positions  in  national  affairs  establish  their  utterances  as  both 
weighty  and  trustworthy.  Said  one  of  these,  a  United  States  Senator, 
within  the  year  (1903),  "Joseph  Holt  was  the  meanest  man  of  his 
time.  He  was  both  unscrupulous  and  ambitious  ;  and  the  smartest 
man  I  ever  knew  !" 

Another  as  prominent  in  the  nation's  affairs,  said,  using  the  same 
adjective  as  did  the  Senator  just  quoted,  "He  was  a  peculiarly  mean 
man.  I  don't  know  the  true  circumstances  of  Mr.  Davis's  and  Mr. 
Clay's  imprisonment,  but  the  suspicions  that  attached  to  Holt  were 
never  proven,  nor,  so  far  as  I  know,  investigated.  After  he  went  out 
of  ofhce  he  seemed  to  have  no  friends..  He  remained  in  Washington. 
I  often  saw  him.  Every  morning  he  would  get  into  a  shabby  old 
buggy  and  drive  to  market,  where  he  would  buy  his  meat  and  vegeta- 
bles, potatoes,  etc.,  for  the  day.  These  he  would  carry  back  to  the 
house  in  his  buggy,  and  his  cook  would  prepare  his  solitary  meals  for 
him.  I  never  felt  anything  but  dislike  for  him,"  said  this  gentleman, 
"and  I  don't  know  any  one  else  who  did  !" 

"True!"  responded  another  gentleman,  whose  word  has  balanced 
national  opinion  to  a  large  extent  for  many  years,  "Mr.  Holt  was 
repugnant  to  me.  I  think  he  was  generally  regarded  as  a  man  who 
had  forsaken  his  own  section  for  gain.  I  thought  him  a  heartless  man. 
When  he  left  office  he  went  into  utter  obscurity  !" 

These  remarks,  coming  from  sources  so  authoritative,  lent  strength 
to  the  supposition  that  Mr.  Holt's  behaviour  toward  his  self-surrendered 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       339 

Mrs.  Patterson,  now  presiding  at  the  White  House,  had 
been  courteous  to  me,  I  resolved,  as  a  stroke  of  policy, 
to  attend  the  Presidential  reception  to  take  place  on  the 
ninth  of  January.  Naturally,  since  my  arrival  in  Wash- 
ington, I  had  not  participated  in  the  social  life  about  me. 
In  acknowledgment  of  Mr.  Johnson's  concessions,  and, 
with  my  husband's  life  at  stake,  with  a  desire  further  to 
win  the  President's  good  offices,  I  now  prepared  to  attend 
his  levee.  My  toilette  was  complete  save  for  the  draw- 
prisoner  and  former  friend,  Clement  C.  Clay,  if  it  might  be  traced  to 
its  source,  would,  indeed,  reveal  a  persecution  at  once  vengeful  and 
malicious,  springing  from  some  personal  animus.  For  a  year  I  made 
continuous  effort  to  find  this  motive,  but  without  success.  Pitiless 
enmity,  supported  by  almost  unlimited  powers  (vested  in  Mr.  Holt  as 
Judge  Advocate  General,  when  the  Government  was  in  an  unprece- 
dented condition  of  chaos) ,  this  officer  surely  exercised  toward  Messrs. 
Davis  and  Clay;  but,  where  was  the  raison  d'etre ? 

By  an  accident,  "at  the  eleventh  hour,"  the  paper  in  Mr.  Clay's 
handwriting  containing  the  sentence  quoted  in  the  preceding  text 
came  to  light.  I  wrote  promptly  to  Mrs.  Clay-Clopton  concerning  it, 
urging  her  to  try  to  recall,  if  possible,  the  "reasons"  which  Mr.  Clay, 
in  his  prison  in  Fortress  Monroe,  on  the  night  of  December  29,  1865, 
had  given  her  in  explanation  of  Mr.  Holt's  animosity  toward  him. 
Her  reply  ran  as  follows : 

"I  can  give  you,  in  regard  of  Mr.  Holt's  persecution  of  my  husband, 
one  very  important  reason  !  On  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  I  think 
on  the  secession  of  Mississippi,  Holt,  who  had  won  both  his  fame  and 
his  fortune  in  that  State  of  his  adoption,  espoused  the  Southern  cause. 
Whether  this  was  known  to  others  than  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay,  I  do 
not  know.  From  the  impression  that  remains  on  my  memory,  Holt 
communicated  in  confidence  to  those  two  gentlemen  alone  his  intention 
of  standing  by  the  South.  Possibly,  it  was  said  to  Mr.  Davis  alone,  as 
the  latter  was  Mississippi's  leading  Senator,  and  by  Mr.  Davis  repeated 
to  Mr.  Clay.  It  was  a  common  thing  in  those  days  to  keep  secret  one's 
intentions."  [See  visit  of  Admiral  Semmes,  Chapter  IX.]  "Whether 
Holt's  decision  was  known  to  others  than  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Clay,  his 
friend,"  continues  the  letter,  "I  do  not  know.  I  remember  Mr.  Clay 
telling  me  that  Mr.  Holt  was  a  renegade  and  a  traitor,  who  had  pledged 
himself  to  the  South;  but  when,  in  his  selfish  ambition,  he  received  a 
higher  bid  from  the  Federal  Government,  he  deserted  our  cause  and 
went  over  to  the  opposition.  I  do  not  recall  the  position  offered  Mr. 
Holt  by  the  Federal  Government,  but  it  was  a  plum  he  coveted. 

"You  ask  whether  Mr.  Clay  and  Mr.  Holt  ever  had  any  dealings  with 
each  other,  political  or  business : 

"None  of  any  kind!  Mr.  Clay  only  knew  of  Holt's  base  defection 
from  our  cause  and  condemned  him  for  it.  My  husband  told  me  (in  the 
Fortress) ,  '  Mr.  Holt  knows  the  estimate  Mr.  Davis  and  I  have  of  his 
defection  and  would  fain  get  us  out  of  the  way!'"     A.  S. 


34o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

ing  on  of  my  gloves,  when,  while  awaiting  the  call  of  my 
hostess  Mrs.  Parker  and  her  daughter  Mrs.  Bouligny, 
whose  preparations  were  somewhat  more  elaborate  than 
my  own,  I  broke  the  seal  of  some  letters  from  home. 
The  news  they  contained  was  of  a  nature  well  calculated 
to  divert  me  from  the  thought  of  appearing  at  a  public 
gathering,  even  at  the  Executive  Mansion. 

The  first  told  me,  in  hurried  lines,  of  the  illness  of  my 
husband's  mother;  the  second,  posted  a  few  hours  later, 
announced  her  death.  "I  write  beside  mother's  dead 
body,"  began  my  sister,  Mrs.  J.  Withers  Clay.  "Her 
constant  theme  was  brother  Clement,  and  the  last  thing 
I  remember  hearing  her  say  was  '  What  of  my  son  ? '  in 
so  distressed  a  tone  that  her  heart  appeared  broken. 
I  trust  you  have  seen  your  dear  husband  ere 
this.  I  hope  he  will  be  released  before  poor  father  leaves 
us.  He  is  very  distressed,  very  gentle  and  subdued 
in  his  trouble.  ...  I  can  never  forget  mother's 
heart-thrilling  question  'What  of  my  son?'  She  was 
very  unhappy  about  your  last  letter— it  was  rather  low- 
spirited — and  said,  '  I  have  no  hope ;  I  shall  never  see  my 
son!'" 

Within  the  next  day  I  called  upon  Mr.  Johnson.  He 
received  me  with  his  usual  urbane  manner,  quite  in  con- 
trast with  my  own  indignant  mood. 

"Mr.  Johnson,"  I  began,  "Who  is  the  President  of  the 
United  States  ? " 

He  smiled  rather  satirically  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  supposed  to  be  ! "  he  said. 

"But  you  are  not  /"  I  answered.  "Your  autographed 
letter  was  of  little  more  use  to  me  when  I  reached  Fortress 
Monroe  than  blank  paper  would  have  been  !  For  hours 
it  was  not  honoured,  during  which  time  your  Secretary  of 
War  held  the  wires  and  refused  to  allow  me  either  to  see 
my  husband  or  to  communicate  with  you  ! ' '  Then,  in  as 
few  words  as  possible,  I  related  the  circumstances  of  my 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       341 

visit  to  the  Fort.  Mr.  Johnson,  though  constrained  to 
preserve  his  official  reserve,  was  unable  to  repress  or 
disguise  his  anger  at  my  recital. 

"When  you  go  there  again  you'll  have  no  difficulty', 
I  assure  you!"  he  said. 

"  When  may  I  ? "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"When  you  wish,"  he  answered. 

I  now  pictured  to  him  my  husband's  position;  I  re 
lated  the  sad  news  I  had  just  received,  and  which,  undc 
present  conditions,  I  knew  I  dared  not  tell  Mr.  Clay,  i 
implored  the  President,  by  every  argument  at  my  com- 
mand, to  exercise  his  Executive  power  and  release  Mr. 
Clay  on  his  parole.  Every  moment  of  his  incarceration 
under  the  discipline  invented  by  the  unscrupulous 
military  authorities,  I  felt  his  life  to  be  imperilled.  As 
our  interview  proceeded,  however,  I  perceived  the  old 
indecision  of  manner  returning.  The  President's  replies 
were  all  to  one  effect ;  viz. :  that  the  Secretary  of  War 
must  decide  upon  the  case.  He  freely  made  out  another 
permit  to  the  prison,  this  time  to  cover  a  longer  stay, 
but  about  a  parole  for  Mr.  Clay,  or  the  naming  of  a  day 
for  an  early  trial,  he  could  promise  nothing.  He  would 
consult  his  Cabinet;  he  would  see  Mr.  Stanton.  At 
last,  my  importunities  for  an  authoritative  action  grow- 
ing greater,  the  President  burst  out  with  every  evidence 
of  deep  feeling: 

"  Go  home,  woman,  and  write  what  you  have  to  say, 
and  I'll  read  it  to  my  Cabinet  at  the  next  meeting  ! " 

"You  will  not!"  I  answered  hotly. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  cynically. 

"Because,"  I  replied,  "you  are  afraid  of  Mr.  Stanton! 
He  would  not  allow  it !  But,  let  me  come  to  the  Cabinet 
meeting,  and  /  will  read  it,"  I  said.  "For,  with  my 
husband's  life  and  liberty  at  stake,  I  do  not  fear  Mr. 
Stanton  or  any  one  else." 

The  President  assured  me  I  need  have  no  misgivings; 


342  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

if  I  would  write  my  plea  and  send  it  directly  to  him,  he 
would,  he  promised  me,  have  it  read  at  the  next  Cabinet 
meeting  (on  the  morrow).  Actuated  by  the  hope,  how- 
ever meagre,  of  gaining  a  possible  sympathy  from  the 
President's  Governmental  associates,  even  though  the 
dictator  Stanton  was  so  coercing  a  personality  in  that 
body,  I  prepared  my  letter.  I  afterward  secured  an 
official  copy  of  it.     It  ran  as  follows: 

"Washington  City,  January  n,  1866. 
' '  To  His  Excellency,  President  of  the  United  States  : 

"...  How  true  it  is  that  all  conditions  of  life,  however 
seemingly  extreme,  are  capable  of  augmentation !  I  have 
thought  and  so  told  you,  that  for  eight  months  past  I  have 
been,  and  God  knows  with  what  cause,  at  the  Nadir  of  despair; 
that  my  cup,  bitterer  than  the  waters  of  Marah,  was  brimming, 
my  heart  breaking.  A  letter  received  two  evenings  ago 
announces  the  death  of  my  husband's  beloved  mother,  wife 
of  ex-Governor  Clay.  Deeply  distressing  to  me;  oh!  Mr. 
Johnson,  what  a  blow  to  my  husband,  your  unhappy  prisoner  ! 
He  was  her  idolised  son,  her  first-born;  bears  the  name  of  her 
lover-husband,  and  upon  whose  lineaments  she  had  not  rested 
her  longing  eyes  for  three  long,  weary,  desolate  years. 

"On  the  morning  of  the  first  she  swooned,  and  expired  on 
the  second,  inquiring,  'What  of  my  son?'  Oh,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, what  an  agonising  reflection  to  my  husband !  How 
can  I  summon  nerve  to  tell  him  the  news  ?  I  cannot  write  so 
great  a  grief,  nor  can  I  tell  it  and  leave  him  in  his  gloomy 
prison  to  struggle  with  it  alone  !  Will  you  not  pour  in  the 
oil  of  healing?  I  beg  of  you,  permit  me  to  bear  with  me, 
along  with  my  'weight  of  woe,'  the  antidote.  Issue  the  order 
for  my  husband's  release  on  his  parole  dlionneur,  with  bail  if 
desired,  and  let  him  once  more  see  our  father,  who  lies  (now) 
on  a  bed  of  illness.  My  sister  writes,  'Father  cannot  long 
survive.*  God  grant  that  he  may  see  dear  brother  Clement 
ere  he  goes.     Cannot  he  come?'- — I  repeat,  cannot  he  come? 

"Mr.  President,  you  hold  many  noble  prisoners  in  your 
forts,  but  Mr.  Clay's  case  is  sui  generis.  General  Grant,  the 
whole-souled  soldier,  in  his  letter  to  you  in  his  behalf,  says, 
'His  manly  surrender  is  to  me  a  full  and  sufficient  guarantee 

*  Governor  Clay  died  the  following  autumn. 


PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  INTERPOSES       343 

that  he  will  be  forthcoming  at  any  time  the  civil  authorities 
of  the  land  may  call  for  him.'  Even  Mr.  Stanton,  who  is  not 
considered  partial  to  so-called  'Rebels,'  told  me,  in  my  only 
interview,  that  'he  was  not  my  husband's  judge,'  as  if  he, 
Pilate-like,  were  willing  to  wash  his  hands  of  innocent  blood. 
I  replied  tremblingly,  'I  would  fain  not  have  you  for  his 
accuser,  Sir.'  To  which  he  rejoined,  not  unkindly,  'I  am  not 
his  accuser,  Madam.'  I  thanked  God  for  even  that  cold  com- 
fort as  harbinger  of  better  days. 

"And  now,  Sir,  may  I  ask  you  who  are  those  opposed  to  my 
husband's  release  on  parole  ?  I  have  yet  to  find  the  first  man, 
Federal  or  other,  who  does  not  express  admiration  at  the 
high  sense  of  honour  and  chivalric  faith,  in  the  prompt  and 
manly  surrender ;  and  astonishment  at  the  detention.  To-day 
we  might  have  been  far  away  in  some  peaceful  spot,  united  at 
least,  and  happy,  but  for  that  sense  of  unsullied  honour,  which 
'feeling  a  stain  like  a  wound,'  remained  to  wipe  it  out.  Can 
you  longer  refuse  him  the  privilege? 

"The  law  supposes  all  men  innocent  till  proven  guilty,  and 
if  it  will  allow  me,  I,  alone,  can  disprove,  in  toto,  the  testi- 
mony of  the  conspiracy  case,  implicating  him.  Mr.  Clay, 
always  delicate,  is  dying  daily.  He  told  me  he  was  resigned 
to  God's  will  and  perfectly  willing  to  perish  in  those  four 
walls  if  his  country  would  be  benefited  thereby.  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, my  husband  is  my  world,  my  all,  and  'dear  to  me  as  are 
the  ruddy  drops  that  visit  this  sad  heart.'  Give  him  to  me 
for  a  little  while,  at  least  long  enough  to  glad  the  dim  eyes  of 
the  eager  and  aged  watcher  at  home  and  close  them ;  and  he 
shall  return  to  you,  on  his  honour  and  my  life,  at  any  moment 
called  for  by  the  Government.  Let  me  bring  him  to  you  to 
prove  to  you  the  truth  of  my  statement  in  point  of  health, 
and  to  afford  him  the  right  of  personal  appeal.  .  .  .  That 
God  may  incline  you  to  grant  my  prayer  and  soften  'the 
hearts  of  our  enemies,'  restore  Peace  indeed  to  the  land,  and 
bless  and  guide  and  guard  you  in  public  and  private  life  to 
your  journey's  end,  is  the  prayer  of  her  who  hopefully,  trust- 
fully, and  truthfully  subscribes  herself, 

"Your  friend, 
(Signed.)  "V.C.Clay." 

I  sent  this  epistle  to  Mr.  Johnson,  but,  despite  the  haste 
in  which  I  had  written  and  despatched  it,  I  was  too  late 
for  the  promised  reading,  which  fact  I  learned  from  the 


344  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

following  message,  that  reached  me  the  next  day.  It 
was  written  on  the  back  of  the  President's  card  in  his 
(by  this  time)  familiar,  scrawling  hand. 

"Your  letter,"  it  read,  "was  too  late  yesterday.  It 
does  your  heart  and  head  credit.  It  is  a  most  powerful 
appeal.     You  have  excelled  yourself  in  its  production!" 

At  the  next  Cabinet  meeting  Mr.  Johnson  made  his 
promise  good.  The  letter  was  then  read,  by  Mr.  Evarts, 
too  late,  however,  even  had  it  produced  immediate 
results,  to  enable  me  to  carry  the  parole  I  had  hoped 
for  to  my  husband.  I  was  again  with  Mr.  Clay  at  the 
Fortress  when  this  meeting  took  place,  but,  having  no 
balm  to  soothe  the  wound,  I  could  not  tell  him  of  the 
blow  that  had  befallen  him,  nor  did  he  hear  of  it  until, 
nearly  four  months  later,  he  left  the  prison.  In  the 
interim,  in  order  that  my  husband  should  not  remark 
upon  the  sombreness  of  my  attire,  I  wore  a  red  rose  in 
my  bonnet  and  red  ribbon  at  my  throat  whenever  I 
visited  the  Fort. 

I  learned  the  particulars  of  that  (to  me)  eventful 
Cabinet  reading  from  Mr.  Johnson  later.  Upon  the  con- 
clusion of  the  letter  Mr.  Stanton  asked  for  it.  He  scanned 
it  closely  and  put  it  into  his  pocket  without  comment. 
Nor  was  the  missive  again  returned  to  Mr.  Johnson  until 
weeks  had  elapsed  and  several  requests  had  been  made 
for  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

The  Nation's  Prisoners 

On  the  twenty-first  of  January,  1866,  a  few  days  after 
my  last  conversation  with  President  Johnson,  I  found 
myself  a  second  time  within  the  ramparts  of  America's 
most  formidable  military  prison.  This  time,  unhindered, 
I  was  led  directly  to  my  husband's  gloomy  room.  In 
this  and  the  several  succeeding  visits  I  paid  Mr.  Clay 
in  prison,  I  learned  to  comprehend,  where  before  I  had 
but  imagined,  the  terrible  sufferings  my  husband  had 
undergone  for  now  eight  months.  When  I  parted  from 
General  Miles  on  May  24th,  of  the  preceding  year,  he  gave 
me  his  promise  that  Mr.  Clay  should  have  every  comfort 
he  could  allow  him. 

I  found,  upon  my  admission  to  Fortress  Monroe,  in 
January,  1866,  that  his  prisoner,  for  three  or  more 
months,  had  been  confined  within  a  narrow  cell,  grated 
and  barred  like  a  cage  in  a  menagerie,  into  which  the 
meagre  daylight  crept  through  the  long,  thin  opening 
in  the  thick  walls.  An  unwholesome  sweat  had  oozed 
through  the  bare  walls  which  surrounded  him,  at  times, 
it  was  said,  increasing  until  it  flowed  in  streams.  For 
weeks  after  entering  the  prison  (I  now  learned)  Mr.  Clay 
had  been  denied  not  only  the  use  of  his  clothing,  but 
his  toilet  brushes  and  comb,  and  every  item  calculated  to 
preserve  his  health  and  self-esteem  had  been  taken  from 
him.  His  only  food  for  weeks  had  been  a  soldier's 
rations,  until  Dr.  Craven,  at  last,  felt  obliged  to  order 
a  hospital  diet.     These  rations  had  been  passed  through 


345 


346  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  prison  bars  in  tin  cup  or  plate,  unaccompanied  by 
knife,  fork  or  spoon. 

For  forty  days  at  a  stretch  he  had  not  been  permitted 
to  look  upon  the  sun ;  for  months,  though  debarred  from 
communication  with  or  visits  from  his  own  family,  he  was 
exhibited  to  strangers,  civilian  or  military,  who  from 
time  to  time  were  brought  into  his  cell,  conversing 
among  themselves,  or  to  the  gratings  to  stare  at  him 
with  curious  gaze.  "  I  have  been  treated  as  if  already 
convicted  of  an  infamous  crime,"  wrote  my  husband  in 
a  paper  sent  out  by  one  who  proved  trustworthy.  "  In- 
deed, one  of  my  warders  told  me  that  the  orders  from 
Washington  required  I  should  be  subjected  to  the  same 
prison  discipline  that  the  assassins  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
underwent.  While  the  Third  Pennsylvania  Artillery 
(volunteers)  were  on  duty  (till  October  31st),  I  scarcely 
ever  walked  out  without  being  greeted  with  '  Shoot  him  ! 
Hang  him  !  Bring  a  rope  !  The  damned  rascal ! '  But 
since  the  regulars  came  in  nothing  like  this  has  occurred. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Davis  and  I  are  not  allowed  to  communicate 
with  each  other.  We  have  met  but  a  few  times,  in  walking 
contrary  to  the  intention  of  officers  and  orders,  but  only 
saluted  each  other  and  asked  of  health." 

Once,  my  husband  told  me,  upon  thus  meeting,  Mr. 
Davis  and  he  greeted  each  other  in  French,  whereupon 
the  soldiers,  scenting  some  further  "treason,"  rushed  at 
them,  pointing  their  bayonets. 

"  I  have  been  subjected,"  continued  my  husband's  state- 
ment, "  to  the  most  refined  but  severe  torture  of  body  and 
soul ;  my  health  considered  in  order  to  preserve  the  sensi- 
bility of  the  body  to  pain.  ...  I  have  been  allowed 
irregularly  some  newspapers,  but  never  one  alluding  to 
any  evidence  against  me,  or  mentioning  me,  unless  in 
terms  of  reproach.  I  am  cut  off  from  the  world,  except 
its  reproaches  !  " 

During  none  of  my  visits  to  the  Fort  was  I  permitted 


THE  NATION'S  PRISONERS  347 

to  speak  with  Mr.  Davis,  between  whom  and  my  husband, 
as  I  have  said,  even  an  occasional  word,  for  a  long  time, 
was  interdicted ;  but,  when  sending  to  him  a  tray  of  good 
things  from  among  gifts  to  my  husband  or  brought 
with  me  from  Washington,  I  managed  often  to  send,  with 
an  extra  segar  or  two,  a  twisted  paper  lighter  on  which  I 
had  scribbled  "Mrs.  Davis  and  children  are  well,"  or 
some  (as  I  hoped)  equally  cheering  greeting. 

In  later  days,  when  a  fuller  liberty  of  walking  about  the 
Fort  was  granted  the  prisoners,  they  were  occasionally 
able  to  pass  to  each  other  some  brief  message,  written,  it 
might  be,  on  the  inch-wide  margin  of  a  bit  of  newspaper 
or  wrapping.  Two  or  three  times  a  scrap  of  writing- 
paper,  written  all  over  in  the  finest  possible  hand,  was 
passed  from  one  to  the  other.  Two  such  messages, 
uttered  under  the  impression  that  Mr.  Clay  was  soon  to 
be  liberated,  are  expressive  of  the  unflinching  spirit 
which  Mr.  Davis  at  all  times  showed,  even  under  torments 
as  humiliating,  and,  in  one  instance,  even  more  cruel, 
than  those  endured  by  my  husband.  The  first  would 
seem  to  have  reached  Mr.  Clay  shortly  after  my  first  visit 
to  the  Fort.  A  lengthy  note,  in  finest  script  and  com- 
pressed within  the  dimensions  of  a  single  six-by-eight 
sheet  of  paper,  it  read  as  if  it  had  been  written  sentence 
by  sentence,  as  mood  dictated  or  opportunity  offered. 

A  second  note,  in  even  more  diminutive  script,*  was 
passed  to  my  husband  in  the  early  winter  of  '66,  when  at 
last  it  seemed  assured  that  Mr.  Clay  would  be  liberated. 
It  was  written  in  this  belief,  and  gave  my  husband  direc- 
tions as  to  friends  whose  influence  might  be  awakened  on 
our  late  President's  behalf.  Mr.  Davis  reiterated  his 
loyalty  to  the  cause  for  which  he  was  now  suffering,  but 

*  On  the  back  of  this  scrap,  Mr.  Davis  wrote  in  pencil,  "If  you  get 
this,  say  I've  got  the  tobacco  and  will  give  you  a  puff."  Long  after- 
ward, lest  the  identity  of  the  little  slip  should  be  lost,  Mr.  Clay  added 
this  comment  beneath  the  original  inscription:  "Preserve  !  Mr.  Davis 
to  me  in  prison!     C.  C.  C."     A.  S. 


34S  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

declared  his  anxiety  for  his  wife's  and  children's  fates. 
He  felt  that  there  was  a  bloodthirsty  hate  against  him,  the 
strong  motive  being  to  degrade  the  lost  cause  in  his  person. 

In  all  of  his  communications,  however  short,  Mr.  Davis 
wrote  with  dignity  and  conviction,  as  became  a  man  who 
had  been  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  a  people.  Once  only, 
and  that  during  my  first  stay  in  the  Fort,  I  saw  the  tall 
figure  of  our  late  Chief.  "  I  saw  Mr.  Davis  walking  on  the 
ramparts,"  I  wrote  to  ex-Governor  Clay.  "His  beard 
and  hair  are  white,  and  he  is  thin  to  emaciation,  but 
walked  like  a  President  still." 

Upon  my  arrival  at  the  Fortress  early  in  '66,  I  found 
Mr.  Clay  established  in  Carroll  Hall,  in  what,  in  view  of 
his  earlier  surroundings,  was  a  comfortable  room.  It  was 
perhaps  sixteen  feet  square,  and  was  lighted  by  two  fairly 
large  windows  which  opened  toward  the  front  of  the  build- 
ing, but  were  heavily  barred  with  iron,  as  was  also  the 
entrance.  The  cot  upon  which  my  husband  slept  was 
much  too  short  for  his  comfort,  and  a  stool  was  the  only 
seat  at  his  disposal. 

After  a  survey  of  Mr.  Clay's  quarters,  I  at  once  called 
the  attention  of  General  Miles  to  the  shortcomings  of  the 
cot  and  the  absence  of  a  chair,  and  in  a  few  hours  a  mat- 
tress sufficiently  long  and  two  chairs  were  brought  in.  I 
also  requested  that  a  druggetjbe  placed  upon  the  floor  of 
•Mr.  Davis's  room,  in  order  that  the  noise  caused  by  the 
change  of  guard  might  be  diminished ;  for,  in  his  nervous 
state,  it  was  said,  he  suffered  greatly  by  reason  of  it. 
This,  I  believe,  was  also  conceded.  My  husband  had 
converted  the  window-sills  of  his  room  into  a  buffet  and 
book-shelf,  respectively,  on  one  of  which  were  kept  his 
medicines  and  such  tidbits  and  delicacies  as  were  now 
from  time  to  time  sent  to  him  by  Dr.  Withers,  our  cousin, 
or  which  I  carried  in  with  me  from  Washington  friends. 
On  the  other,  his  meagre  supply  of  books,  the  Bible  and 
Jay's  Prayers  being  the  principal  volumes. 


THE   NATION'S   PRISONERS  349 

But  for  his  own  scrupulous  cleanliness,  Mr.  Clay's  life 
must  long  ago  have  succumbed  to  his  unparalleled  depriva- 
tions in  that  cruel  imprisonment.  So  neatly  had  he  kept 
his  cell  and  room,  however,  that  they  were  the  wonder  of 
all  his  attendants.  It  was  his  custom,  when  he  took  his 
morning  bath  (he  told  me) ,  to  stand  the  basin  first  in  one 
and  then  another  position  in  the  room,  splashing  the  water 
about  as  far  as  he  could,  after  which  he  would  take  the 
broom  with  which  he  was  provided  and  brush  the  wet 
portions  clean  !  To  such  depths  of  cruelty  did  the  agents 
of  Mr.  Stanton  and  Mr.  Holt  condemn  a  delicate  scholar 
— a  former  friend,  recently  a  United  States  Senator,  whose 
name  throughout  the  land  was  the  synonym  for  unfailing 
integrity,  against  whom  the  United  States  as  yet  seemingly 
had  not  found  a  single  charge  on  which  he  might  be 
brought  to  trial ! 

I  learned  of  many  instances  of  insult  offered  to  Mr. 
Clay  by  his  rude  first  custodians.  Upon  one  occasion,  re- 
minded of  it  by  the  sound  of  the  dull-splashing  waters 
without  the  walls  of  his  cell,  my  husband  conceived  the 
idea  that  a  salt  bath  would  assist  in  strengthening  him. 
He  therefore  asked  the  attendant  for  the  day  if,  instead 
of  the  fresh  water  usually  supplied  to  him,  he  would  bring 
him  some  salt  water.     The  man's  reply  was  emphatic. 

"You  damned  Rebel!"  he  said.  "You  may  thank 
God  you  get  any  water.     You  don't  deserve  to  have  any  ! ' ' 

My  husband,  whose  nature  was  of  the  tenderest  and 
most  patient,  especially  with  the  ignorant,  answered  very 
quietly,  "  I  am  thankful  for  any  water  !  "  His  reply  illus- 
trated anew  the  magic  of  the  soft  answer,  for  the  soldier, 
looking  very  much  ashamed,  spoke  in  a  moment  in  a  very 
different  manner. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Clay,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  why  I 
did  it.  I've  got  nothing  against  you.  Guess  it's  a  kind 
of  habit  of  damning  Johnny  Rebs  !  I'll  get  you  the  water. 
I  believe  you're  a  Christian  gentleman !  " 


35o  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  my  second  visit  to  the 
Fortress,  I  encountered  Dr.  Cooper,  against  whom,  it  will 
be  recalled,  Dr.  Craven  had  warned  me.  To  the  pris- 
oner he  had  always  revealed  himself  as  a  man  of  strictly 
unsocial  manner,  not  to  say  an  austere  and  pitiless  one. 
During  the  first  day  of  my  visit  to  the  Fort,  I  saw  nothing 
of  him.  It  was  dark  when  I  left  my  husband's  cell  and 
set  out,  escorted  by  Lieutenant  Stone,  for  the  little  hotel 
outside  the  ramparts.  Once  outside  of  the  prison,  the  air 
was  chill,  and  so  silent,  save  for  a  strong  wind,  that  I  was 
conscious  of  no  sound  save  it  and  the  swashing  of  the  waters 
against  the  stone  walls  of  the  Fort.  Its  cadence  was 
weird  and  full  of  melancholy.  As  the  doors  of  the  prison 
closed  behind  us,  I  saw  in  the  shadows  a  curious  figure 
coming  directly  toward  us.  It  was  clad  in  a  long,  loose, 
flapping  dressing-gown,  and  in  its  mouth  was  a  pipe  in 
which  glowed  a  live  spark  of  tobacco.  I  observed  my 
guard  looking  straight  ahead  and  apparently  unobservant ; 
but  he  said,  under  his  breath  and  in  a  tone  only  audible 
to  me,  "Here  comes  Dr.  Cooper!  " 

Another  moment  and  the  figure  was  beside  us. 

"  Stone,"  said  a  gruff  voice,  "  present  me  to  Mrs.  Clay  !  " 

My  escort  complied  promptly,  and  then,  to  my  alarm, 
hastened  away  at  once,  leaving  me  dismayed  and  appre- 
hensive, in  the  care  of  the  "blackest  of  Black  Repub- 
licans" and  one  who  would  "show  me  no  mercy  !  " 

"Madam!"  said  the  Doctor,  whose  features  I  could 
scarcely  discern  in  the  dusk,  "my  wife  wishes  you  to 
accept  the  hospitality  of  our  house  to-night ! ' ' 

Had  the  man  turned  suddenly  and  clasped  manacles 
about  my  wrists,  I  could  scarcely  have  been  more  startled. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  I  stammered.  "I  am  on  my 
way  to  General  Miles 's  headquarters  for  my  passport 
with  which  to  leave  the  Fort.  I  have  not  the  privilege  of 
remaining  within  the  ramparts  over  night." 

"  Nonsense,  Madam  ! "  replied  the  Doctor,  almost  rudely. 


w 


-v-^ :■•■■:..  ..■■■■/'■'■,■  --¥ 
•..■.■■■•■:-..'-.  ■/■■.■  ■■.-.■■■-'■■-■.■.  ■■■;.■■<■  >-:-. 

■ 

flllfll 
flfll 


DR.   GEORGE  COOPER 
Fortress  Monroe,  1866 


THE  NATION'S  PRISONERS  351 

"  My  wife  expects  you !  We  soldiers  have  no  luxuries 
and  but  few  comforts,  but  we  can  give  you  shelter  and 
save  General  Miles  some  trouble  in  sending  you  to  and 
fro  !  "  And  he  started  rapidly  across  the  stone  walk.  I 
followed  him  in  silence  for  some  distance,  hardly  know- 
ing why  I  did  so,  my  mind  busy  conjuring  up  the  possible 
significance  of  his  conduct,  and  alert  to  meet  the  unknown 
perils  into  which  it  was  possible  I  was  being  led.  Pres- 
ently the  Doctor,  between  puffs  of  tobacco,  asked,  "  Ever 
been  here  before?" 

"  Yes  !  "  I  answered,  sorrowfully  enough,  but  with  some 
pride,  too,  unless  at  that  moment  I  proved  untrue  to 
myself,  which  I  know  I  did  not.  "Yes !  I  was  here  dur- 
ing President  Pierce's  administration,  when  my  husband 
was  an  honoured  Senator,  and  I,  beside  Secretary  Dobbin, 
looked  on  the  brilliant  rockets  that  wrote  the  names  of 
Pierce  and  Davis  across  the  night  sky  !  "  I  was  sad  at  the 
thought  of  that  joyful  occasion  and  the  contrast  the 
present  afforded  me.  Suddenly  the  Doctor,  who  had  been 
chewing  most  ostentatiously  at  his  pipe,  edged  up  to  me 
and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Cheer  up!  Cheer  up!  Cheer  up!  Madam!"  He 
spoke  so  rapidly  that  I  hardly  realised  the  significance  of 
his  words.  They  sounded  exactly  like  "chirrup,  chirrup, 
chirrup,  Madam."  "My  wife,"  he  added,  still  in  that 
low-guarded  voice,  "is  the  damnedest  Rebel  out,  except 
yourself,  Madam !  " 

I  was  dumbfounded !  He,  Dr.  Cooper,  the  blackest  of 
Black  Republicans,  etc.,  against  whom  I  had  been 
warned  so  emphatically?  A  flood  of  gratitude  rushed 
over  me.  Half  crying,  I  turned  to  grasp  his  hand  and 
thank  him,  but  seeing  my  intention,  he  drew  away,  saying 
sharply,  "None  of  that,  Madam!  None  o'  that!"  and, 
increasing  his  gait  suddenly,  almost  flew  before  me,  his 
long  gown  rising  in  his  wake  most  ludicrously,  as  he  made 
for  a  dark  cottage  that  now  began  to  shape  itself  out  of 


352  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

the  gloom.  It  was  so  small  that  until  we  were  almost 
upon  it  I  had  not  perceived  it.  Every  window  it  boasted 
was  mysteriously  dark. 

My  guide  pushed  open  the  door,  however,  and  entered, 
I  following  him  mechanically.  The  door  closed  behind 
me,  and  it  seemed  automatically,  as  the  Doctor  disap- 
peared from  view;  but,  in  a  moment,  I  found  myself  in  the 
friendly  embrace  of  the  Doctor's  wife,  one  of  the  loveliest 
of  women,  Elva  Cooper. 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  my  sweet  sister !  "  she  said,  as  her 
tears  flowed  in  sympathy  with  mine.  "You  are  in  the 
right  place.  There  is  nothing  under  heaven  you  would 
do  for  Mr.  Davis  or  Mr.  Clay  that  I  will  not  do.  I  am  an 
Old  Point  Comfort  woman,  born  here.  My  mother  is  a 
Virginian, "  she  continued,  "  and  is  with  me ;  and  you  must 
know  rrty  little  Georgette.  We  are  all  Rebels  of  the  first 
water  !  "  and  this  I  found  to  be  true. 

This  strangely  God-given  friend,  Elva  Jones  Cooper, 
with  whom  I  remained  four  days  and  nights,  never  flagged 
in  her  devotion  to  me  and  the  prisoners.  I  saw  her  many 
times  in  my  several  visits  to  the  Fort,  and  on  numberless 
occasions  had  reason  to  note  the  womanly  expression  of 
her  sympathy.  Quite  frequently  she  would  prepare  with 
her  own  hands  a  dainty  breakfast,  write  on  a  card,  "By 

order  of  Dr.  C ,"  and  send  to  one  or  the  other  of  the 

prisoners. 

I  once  saw  her  gather  from  a  box  of  growing  violets 
a  small  bunch  of  flowers,  tie  them  with  a  strand  of  her 
shining  hair,  and  drop  them  into  her  husband's  hat,  saying, 
"Put  that  hat  where  Mr.  Clay  can  see  it.  He  shall  smell 
violets,  even  though  he  is  a  prisoner !  " 

Mrs.  Cooper  was  A^oung,  not  thirty ;  beautiful  in  form 
and  face ;  snowy  skin  and  raven  hair  and  eyes ;  tall,  com- 
manding, and  graceful.  My  husband,  on  seeing  her, 
exclaimed,  "Maid  of  Saragossa ! "  And  very  appro- 
priately did  he  transfer  to  her  this  poetic  title. 


THE  NATION'S  PRISONERS  353 

Outwardly,  Dr.  Cooper's  deportment  to  me  was  barely 
civil,  and  so  continued.  I  dared  not  ask  one  favour,  so 
stern  and  seemingly  implacably  did  he  deport  himself 
toward  my  husband  and  me,  toward  our  section  and  the 
cause  for  which  we  were  suffering;  yet,  in  the  months  to 
come,  as  on  that  memorable  night  of  January  21,  1866, 
many  an  occasion  arose  to  convince  me  that  Dr.  Craven's 
successor,  after  all,  was  actuated  by  a  genuine  feeling  of 
humanity  toward  the  State  prisoners,  and  I  soon  grew  to 
recognise  in  him  a  lamb  in  wolf's  clothing. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

President  Johnson  Hears  What  the  "People  Say" 

Upon  my  return  from  the  Fort  on  the  30th  of  January 
I  redoubled  my  pleadings  for  Mr.  Clay's  release,  both  by 
correspondence  and  by  visits  to  the  White  House.  The 
President's  bearing  toward  me  was  courteous  and  friendly, 
though  it  was  apparent  the  confusion  of  the  times  and  the 
pressure  which  was  being  brought  upon  him  on  every  side 
was  troubling  him ;  but,  notwithstanding  that  he  listened 
and  with  every  evidence  of  sympathy,  Mr.  Johnson  con- 
tinued irresolute,  deferring  from  time  to  time  on  what,  in 
fact,  seemed  the  most  trivial  excuses,  the  issuing  of  the 
release  papers.  If  I  called  once  at  the  White  House  dur- 
ing the  weeks  that  followed,  I  called  fifty  times,  inces- 
santly suing  for  my  husband's  freedom,  and  adding  some- 
times a  plea  for  the  pardons  of  friends  and  neighbours 
in  Huntsville  who  were  eager  to  resume  their  normal 
positions  in  the  community.  In  the  middle  of  February 
I  was  enabled  to  write  home  as  follows : 

"My  Dear  Father:  I  send  your  long-sued-for  pardon.  Act 
upon  its  requirements  at  once  !  I  am  pressing  my  husband's 
case  and  never  mean  to  stop  until  success  crowns  my  efforts. 
I  am  emboldened  to  hope  the  day  not  far  distant  when  he  will 
be  a  free  man !  Great  political  excitement  now  reigns. 
.     The  President  is  very  kind  to  me  always." 

Notwithstanding  there  were  times  when  my  own  heart 
sank  to  an  almost  hopeless  state,  I  wrote  thus  hopefully 
to  the  patriarch  at  home,  for  each  post  told  me  of  his 
increasing  feebleness,  and  I  longed  to  sustain  him,  at  least 
until  my  husband's  release  was  accomplished. 

354 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  355 

"God  bless  you!"  wrote  my  sister,  Mrs.  J.  Withers 
Clay,  early  in  March,  "and  give  you  success!  I  asked 
father  to  send  you  some  special  message.  He  replied, 
'Give  her  my  best  love,  and  tell  her  for  God's  sake  to 
tell  me  when  my  poor  boy  will  be  pardoned  !'" 

These  appeals,  as  will  be  understood,  were  the  private 
agonies  which  acted  like  a  lash  to  spur  me  to  the  end 
of  the  task  of  securing  my  husband's  freedom,  and 
to  stimulate  me,  even  in  the  face  of  the  continued  delays 
which  now  were  become  so  inexplicable. 

Early  in  February  a  change  in  public  feeling  began 
to  be  made  manifest  in  the  press.  The  mystery  of  the 
detention  of  the  prisoners  at  Fortress  Monroe  without  trial 
was  arousing  curiosity.  The  New  York  Herald,  thanks 
to  the  intervention  of  our  friend,  Colonel  Robert  Barn- 
well Rhett  (of  the  doughty  and  fearless  Charleston 
Mercury),  who  had  presented  Mr.  Clay's  case  to  Mr. 
Bennett,  now  began  to  make  inquiry  in  the  cases  of  the 
unjustly  treated  prisoners. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Clay,"  wrote  Colonel  Rhett,  late  in  Decem- 
ber, "having  the  opportunity  of  a  good  talk  with  Mr. 
Bennett,  of  the  New  York  Herald,  day  before  yesterday, 
I  urged  him  to  come  out  for  the  release  of  your  husband. 
He  said  he  did  not  know  much  about  the  business !  I 
told  him  Mr.  Clay  was  universally  recognised  to  be  one 
of  the  purest  and  most  high-minded  public  men  in  the 
country — one  wholly  incapable  of  anything  criminal  or 
questionable;  and  that  he  had  gone  to  Canada  at  the 
solicitation  of  Mr.  Davis  to  communicate  with  the 
Peace  Party  of  the  North.  I  reminded  him  that,  after 
the  collapse  of  the  Confederate  Government,  when  a 
reward  was  offered  for  his  arrest,  Mr.  Clay  had  volun- 
tarily and  promptly  surrendered  himself,  asking  an 
investigation ;  and  that  no  intelligent  man  in  the  country 
who  knew  anything  of  our  public  men  believed  the 
charges  to  be  other  than  frivolous  and  absurd.     I  added 


356  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

that  Mr.  Clay's  prolonged  captivity  was  regarded  simply 
as  an  outrage  on  propriety,  and  that  if  he,  Mr.  Bennett, 
would  take  the  subject  in  hand,  he  would  greatly  gratify 
the  Southern  people. 

"  He  showed  an  interest  in  the  matter,  and  said  he 
would  take  it  up  in  the  Herald.  That  paper,  you  are 
aware,  aims  to  reflect  the  current  public  opinion,  irre- 
spective of  parties,  and  now  warmly  supports  President 
Johnson  against  the  Radicals.  It  is  a  great  power,  and 
by  preparing  the  public  mind  and  strengthening  the 
President,  may  aid  you  efficiently." 

The  results  of  this  interview  by  no  means  met  the 
hopes  of  Colonel  Rhett,  however;  for  the  utterances  of 
Mr.  Bennett's  paper  were  few  and  guarded.  But  they 
were  as  a  straw  showing  the  veering  of  the  wind. 

"I  was  disappointed  in  Mr.  Bennett's  fulfilment  of 
his  promise  to  speak  in  Mr.  Clay's  behalf  in  the  Herald," 
ran  a  second  letter  from  our  friend.  "A  few  incidental 
expressions  of  opinion  and  a  communication  published 
did  not  come  up  to  my  expectations.  If  you  feel  dis- 
posed to  write,  Mrs.  Bennett  is  the  channel  by  which 
to  reach  him.  She  told  me  she  sympathised  with  the 
South  in  her  feelings,  and  admired  Southerners.  .  .  . 
In  failing  to  deal  with  the  case  as  you  present  it,  the 
President  must  be  very  feeble  in  the  article  of  nerve, 
touching  his  War  Secretary  and  other  Radical  adver- 
saries. Yet  the  widow  prevailed  with  the  unjust  Judge, 
and  I  trust  your  importunity  may  weary  the  cautious 
Tennesseean  into  decided  steps  for  Mr.  Clay's  release ! 

"  Yours,  etc., 

"  R.  Barnwell  Rhett." 

Early  in  the  month  of  February  two  important  letters 
reached  me  through  Mr.  R.  J.  Haldeman.  They  were 
addressed  to  the  President,  and  bore  the  signature  of 
Thaddeus  Stevens  and  R.  J.  Walker,  respectively.  Since 
my  letter  addressed  to  him  in  May,  1865,  Mr.  Haldeman's 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  357 

efforts  had  been  unremitting  to  interest  in  my  husband's 
behalf  those  whose  recommendations  were  likely  to  have 
most  weight  with  the  President  and  his  advisers.  He 
now  wrote  me  as  follows: 

"Mrs.  C.  C.  Clay,  Jr. 

"My  Dear  Madam:  I  inclose  you  a  very  handsome  letter 
from  the  Honourable  R.  J.  Walker  to  the  President.  I  also 
sent  you  the  letter  of  Mr.  Stevens,  which  has  become  of  some 
importance  in  view  of  Mr.  Stevens's  recent  utterances.  Mr. 
Walker  considers  it  of  the  highest  importance,  and  wonders 
how  I  obtained  it. 

"After  seeing  you,  I  called  on  Mr.  S in  reference  to  the 

proposed  visit  (to  you),  but  found  him  brooding  over  the 
violent  speech  which  he  has  since  made.  I  did  not  therefore 
deem  it  prudent  to  insist  upon  the  performance  of  his  promise, 
and  am  confirmed  in  my  judgment  by  events. 

"During  the  day  I  heard  something  which  convinced  me 
the  President  would  not  then  act.  This  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  tell  you,  and  therefore  obeyed  a  hasty  summons  to 
New  York  by  an  unceremonious  departure  from  Washington. 
As  the  future  unfolds,  I  hope  to  be  again  at  Washington, 
and  at  the  propitious  moment.  I  hope  you  will  keep  up  your 
good  spirits,  for,  upon  the  faith  of  a  somewhat  phlegmatic 
and  never  over-sanguine  Dutchman,  I  think  the  period  of 
Mr.  Clay's  release  approaches  rapidly.  .  .  .  Mr.  Walker, 
however,  desires  me  to  say  to  you  that  '  as  we  must  all  go  to 
Clay  at  last,  why  not  go  at  once  ? '  I  think  this  pointed  wit- 
ticism would  bear  repetition  to  the  President.  I  am,  very 
respectfully,  Madam,  Yours, 

"February  3,   1866.  "R-  J-  Haldeman." 

As  I  had  done  in  the  case  of  General  Grant's  letter,  I 
now  hastened  to  send  to  the  President  the  letters  from 
Thaddeus  Stevens  and  Judge  Walker,  both  of  whom 
recommended  the  prompt  release  of  Mr.  Clay.  The 
letter  from.  R.  J.  Walker  was  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Clay's;  that  from 
Mr.  Stevens,  the  most  radical  of  Radicals,  was  a  source 
of  some  astonishment.  It  was  not  the  only  surprise  of 
those  weeks,  however. 


353  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"  I  have  had  strange  visitors  lately,"  I  wrote  to  father. 
"  Some  extremists  of  the  Radical  party  have  called  upon 
me  to  assure  me  of  their  belief  in  my  husband's  inno- 
cence!" And  in  my  diary  of  the  14th  of  that  fateful 
February,  I  find  entered:  "When  will  wonders  cease? 
Who  but  the  Honourable  Mr.  Wilson,  of  Massachusetts, 
has  called,  and  voluntarily,  to  say  he  will  do  anything 
in  his  power  for  me  or  Mr.  Clay;  knows  he  is  innocent; 
believes  Mr.  Davis  to  be  also  innocent !  It  is  the  good- 
ness of  God !" 

The  circumstances  of  Mr.  Wilson's  unexpected  visit 
were  altogether  dramatic.  I  was  seated  at  the  dinner- 
table  with  the  family  of  Mrs.  Parker,  when,  it  being  still 
early  in  the  evening,  a  visitor  was  announced  who  de- 
clined to  give  his  name  or  the  purpose  for  which  he 
had  called. 

"Tell  Mrs.  Clay  that  a  friend  wishes  to  see  her,"  was 
his  message.  A  sudden  remembrance  flashed  over  me, 
and,  indeed,  over  the  friends  around  me,  of  the  secret 
warning  I  had  received  just  after  my  arrival  in  Wash- 
ington, viz. :  that  I  must  be  on  my  guard  against  strange 
visitors.  After  a  few  moments'  consultation  with  the 
family,  I  decided  to  see  the  stranger.  Doctor  Maury, 
Mrs.  Parker's  son-in-law  (who  had  been  Chief  of  Staff 
on  General  Longstreet's  medical  staff,  and  was  a  brave 
and  charming  man),  accompanied  me  to  the  drawing- 
room  door,  encouraging  me  by  telling  me  to  have  no  fear, 
as  he  would  remain  near  by.  As  I  entered  the  room 
the  Doctor  drew  back  into  the  hall.  He  was  prepared, 
he  assured  me,  for  any  emergency. 

Great,  indeed,  was  my  astonishment  upon  entering, 
to  see,  rising  to  meet  me,  Senator  Wilson,  Vice-President 
of  the  United  States !  To  that  moment  I  had  had  no 
acquaintance  with  the  Massachusetts  Senator,  though 
I  had  seen  him  often  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate.  Though 
seized  with  an  inward  panic  of  apprehension  that   he 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  359 

was  the  bearer  of  some  dreadful  tidings,  I  took  the 
proffered  hand  of  my  strange  visitor,  obeying  mechani- 
cally an  instinct  of  responsive  courtesy.  For  a  moment, 
however,  fear  made  me  speechless.  At  last,  Mr.  Wilson 
broke  the  painful  silence. 

"You  are  doubtless  surprised  to  see  me,"  he  said. 

"Unutterably  so!"  I  rejoined.  "Please  tell  me 
quickly  why  you  have  come,  and  end  this  agony  of  sus- 
pense !"     And  I  burst  into  tears. 

"  Do  not  weep,  dear  Madam  ! "  said  Mr.  Wilson.  "  Mr. 
Clay  is  well,  and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I  deeply 
sympathise  with  you  and  desire  to  help  you  to  obtain 
his   release!" 

"Mr.  Clay's  surrender,"  Mr.  Wilson  continued,  "re- 
flects great  honour  upon  him.  He  is  a  brave  and  good 
man.  Though  he  and  I  were  opposed  in  politics,  I  have 
always  respected  Mr.  Clay.  Even  his  enemies  on  my 
side  of  the  Chamber  always  knew  where  to  find  the 
Senator  from  Alabama!" 

My  heart  was  so  full  as  I  listened  to  these  words,  I 
could  not  make  answer  to  this  tribute  to  the  worth  of 
my  suffering  husband  but  by  a  fresh  flow  of  tears. 
Somehow,  as  he  stood  before  me,  the  erstwhile  shoe- 
maker of  Nantucket  seemed  stamped  with  the  seal  of 
nobility  from  God !  I  did  not  then  know  his  kindly 
nature,  and  those  to  whom  I  related  the  incident  of  this 
visit  said  nothing  to  impress  me  with  the  sincerity  of 
Senator  Wilson's  act.  On  the  contrary,  many  assured 
me  that  some  selfish  and  sinister  motive  impelled  the 
interview,  and  that  Mr.  Wilson  would  not  commit  him- 
self by  writing  what  he  had  spoken.  A  friend  to  whom 
I  wrote  an  account  of  the  visit,  replied,  counselling  me 
as  follows: 

"  I  do  not  personally  know  Mr.  Wilson,  but  believe 
him,  from  report,  to  be  tricky,  unscrupulous,  and  only 
hypocritically  fanatical.     Mr.  Stevens  may  have  spoken 


360  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  him,  or  Mr.  Sumner  (whom,  you  remember,  I  saw) ;  or 
he  may  have  wished  to  approach  the  President  through 
an  opening  which  he  supposed  congenial  to  the  Presi- 
dent's wishes.  However,  your  course  is  clear.  Commit 
Mr.  Wilson  by  a  letter  to  the  President,  so  that  when  the 
fight  waxes  furious  he  may  not  be  able  to  take  advantage 
of  what  the  President  may  do.  I  consider  it  a  good  sign 
that  the  President  desires  to  keep  the  letters  of  Messrs. 
Stevens  and  Walker." 

In  the  meantime  I  had  spoken  of  the  incident  with 
warm  enthusiasm  to  Mr.  Johnson.  He  replied  very 
much  as  others  had  done;  to  wit.,  that  Mr.  Wilson  would 
not  commit  to  writing  the  sentiments  he  had  expressed 
verbally  to  me. 

"He  fears  the  Radical  press  too  much,"  said  the 
President. 

Nettled  somewhat  at  this  distrust,  I  assured  Mr. 
Johnson  of  my  faith  in  his  Vice-President ;  that  I  would 
get  the  letter  from  him,  and  voluntarily.  "If  not,"  I 
added,  somewhat  stung  by  his  cynicism,  "  I  will  extort  it ! " 

Shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  casting  up  one  eye,  a 
characteristic  habit  of  the  President,  he  asked,  "How?" 

"Simply,"  I  replied,  "by  an  avowal  that  I  will  give 
to  the  Herald  and  other  papers  the  whole  affair,  telling 
how  the  Honourable  Senator  had  come,  secretly,  by  night, 
like  Nicodemus,  to  deceive  by  false  promises  a  sorrow- 
ful woman,  for  some  base  reason  best  known  to  himself  ! " 

Leaving  the  President  still  with  an  incredulous  smile 
upon  his  face,  I  returned  to  my  asylum  at  Mrs.  Parker's, 
and  shortly  addressed  Mr.  Wilson  a  note,  expressive  of 
my  wish.  A  reply,  under  his  own  frank,  reached  me 
early  in  March,  and  I  bore  it  in  some  triumph  to  the 
President.  The  Vice-President's  letter,  a  copy  of  which 
I  afterward  secured,  was  dated  from  the  "United  States 
Senate  Chamber,  Washington,  March  3,  1866."  It  was 
addressed  to 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  361 

"His  Excellency,  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

"Sir"  [the  letter  began]:  "Mrs.  Clay,  the  wife  of  Clement 
C.  Clay,  is  now  in  the  city,  and  has  requested  me  to  obtain  per- 
mission for  her  husband  to  go  to  his  home  on  parole.  His 
father  is  said  to  be  at  the  point  of  death,  his  mother  recently 
deceased,  and,  if  there  be  no  objections  or  reasons  unknown 
to  me  why  the  request  of  Mrs.  Clay  should  be  denied,  I  have 
no  hesitation  in  recommending  its  favourable  consideration, 
if  only  from  motives  of  humanity,  as  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Clay 
will  be  forthcoming  when  his  presence  is  again  required  by  the 
Government. 

"I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

"Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 
(Signed.)  "H.  Wilson." 

Some  six  weeks  later,  when  Mr.  Clay's  release  was  at 
last  accomplished,  and  the  press  was  busy  with  com- 
ments upon  it,  the  names  of  the  gentlemen  who  had 
written  to  the  President  on  my  husband's  behalf  being 
enumerated,  some  of  the  Radical  papers  attempted  to 
deny  the  probability  of  Mr.  Wilson's  intercession;  which 
was,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  a  singularly  useless  thing  to  do, 
since  his  letter  was  already  filed  among  the  Government's 
archives.  But  the  air  everywhere  was  full  of  political 
revolution,  and  parties  and  partisans  did  not  hesitate 
to  resort  to  such  means  in  their  endeavour  to  effect  the 
desired  feeling  in  the  public  mind. 

Every  step  taken  by  the  President  in  those  days  was 
opposed  or  attacked.  In  my  efforts  to  accomplish  my 
husband's  release,  I  came  in  contact  with  many  good  and 
earnest  men,  anxious  to  serve  Mr.  Clay  and  me,  though 
often  wholly  disapproving  of  Mr.  Johnson's  weak  course. 
The  retention  of  Mr.  Stanton  in  the  Cabinet  was  peculiarly 
offensive  to  a  great  many.  Wherever  a  political  meeting 
was  held,  Mr.  Johnson  was  liable  to  vituperative  assault. 
Private  conversation  teemed  with  rumours  of  a  growing 
and  increasingly  violent  opposition. 

In  view  of  Mr.  Johnson's  demonstrated  kindliness  to 
me,  it  was  not  only  loyal  to  the  President,  but,  I  hoped, 


362  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

would  prove  protective  to  Mr.  Clay's  interest,  that  I 
should  give  the  Executive  the  benefits  of  some  of  the 
warnings  I  had  heard  by  no  means  privately  uttered. 
I,  therefore,  spoke  to  him  fearlessly,  and  wrote  to  him 
no  less  unrestrainedly. 

A  few  days  after  Mr.  Wilson's  visit,  I  wrote  to  Mr. 
Johnson  in  this  wise,  my  letter  being  dated  February  16th : 

"Mr.  President. 

"Dear  Friend:  Fearing  I  may  not  see  you  this  morning,  I 
fortify  myself  with  this  note.  I  go  up  [to  the  War  Depart- 
ment] hoping  for  my  father's  correspondence.  If  I  get 
neither,  may  I  beg  to  remind  you  of  your  promises  ?  I  have 
some  strange  things  to  tell  you.     .     .     .     Rumour  says  that 

'  the  people  say, '  '  If  Mr.  J does  not  support  them  versus 

the  Radicals,  they  will  call  on  General  Grant !'  I  know  you  will 
not  falter,  and  are  not  to  be  intimidated  by  threats  from  brave 
men,  far  less  cowards.  .  .  .  Will  you  not  send  me  one 
line  ?  Do  !  and  say  the  wheel  has  advanced  one  notch  toward 
the  day  of  deliverance  !  " 

A  letter  received  after  sending  the  above  missive,  in 
addition  to  the  conferences  I  held  daily  with  Judges 
Black  and  Hughes,  and  with  others  calculated  by  their 
established  judicial  and  political  worth  to  aid  me,  had 
its  share  in  stimulating  me  to  press  my  arguments  home 
more  and  more  confidently  in  my  future  interviews  with 
Mr.  Johnson. 

"  I  was  spectator  yesterday  in  a  Democratic  Convention 
in  an  adjoining  County  (Harrisburg) , "  ran  the  letter, 
"when  the  news  of  the  veto  was  brought.  A  resolution 
of  approval  was  immediately  adopted,  and  I,  being 
seen  in  the  crowd,  was  called  out.  I  raised  such  a  storm 
in  fifteen  minutes  as  would  have  done  the  President's 
heart  good  to  have  witnessed.  The  people  are  palpi- 
tating with  eagerness  to  have  the  battle-ground  defined, 
foggy  constructions  and  platforms  removed,  so  that  they 
may  charge  upon  the  foes  to  a  restored  and  tranquil 
Union. 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  363 

"  Alea  jacta  est:  Mr.  Johnson  has  put  his  hand  to 
the  plow,  and  cannot  look  back.  .  .  .  He  has 
shown  the  very  highest  order  of  statesmanship  in  that 
command  of  himself  and  ability  to  bide  his  time,  amid 
unexampled  embarrassments,  which  have  won  for  him 
the  confidence  of  reflecting  men.  But  could  you  not 
gently  insinuate  some  day  that,  hereafter,  the  great 
debate,  on  appeal,  is  to  be  carried  before  the  Tribunal  of 
the  American  people  in  the  case  of  the  President  versus 
Congress?  .  .  .  Many  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  acts,  wrong 
in  themselves,  were  nevertheless  pardoned  or  applauded, 
because  they  evinced  energy,  courage  or  willingness  to 
shoulder  responsibility.     .     .     . 

"As  one  of  the  people,  .  .  .  and  accustomed  to 
'pulse'  the  public,  I  think  I  may  unhesitatingly  assert 
that  Mr.  Johnson  would  gain  immensely  by  no  longer 
waiting  to  be  attacked  and  undermined,  but  boldly 
striking  his  country's  and  his  own  enemies.  If  he  would 
break  out  before  witnesses  into  indignant  denunciation 
of  Mr.  Stanton  for  having  attempted  to  sap  the  founda- 
tion of  liberty,  and  that,  therefore,  he  is  unfit  to  be  in  the 
Government  of  a  free  people,  a  thrill  of  joy  would  course 
like  electricity  through  the  land.  Let  the  contest  be 
only  strictly  defined;  let  the  President,  with  a  cabinet  of 
friends,  stand  forward  as  the  defender  of  peace  and  Union 
against  a  Congress  which  seeks  to  perpetuate  strife,  dis- 
cord, and  disunion,  and  we  will,  by  meetings  held  in  every 
county  of  the  North,  so  arouse  the  people  in  support  of 
our  constitutional  and  law-abiding  President  against  a 
lawless  and  usurping  Congress,  that  it  would  be  com- 
paring small  things  to  great  to  compare  it  with  the 
pressure  which  General  Monk  and  the  people  of  England 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  fanatical  Parliament  in  behalf 
of  Charles  II." 

A  few  days  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  while  on  my 
way  to  call  upon  the  President,  and  in  the  company  of 


364  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

my  faithful  friend,  Mrs.  Bouligny,  I  met  Mr.  Stanton 
descending  the  stairs  of  the  White  House.  I  saw  by  the 
Secretary's  manner  that  he  recognised  me.  Indeed,  there 
was  a  half-inclination  of  the  head,  as  if  he  had  expected 
me  to  bow  to  him.  I  did  not  do  so.  The  innate  con- 
tempt I  felt  for  this  despotic  Secretary  of  War,  whom  I 
knew  to  be  the  power  upholding  Mr.  Holt,  who  was  so 
cruelly  detaining  my  husband,  froze  my  manner  into  a 
hauteur  I  could  not  easily  have  assumed.  I  went  angrily 
to  my  appointment. 

As  I  entered  the  parlour  in  which  the  President  stood 
ready  to  receive  me,  I  immediately  broke  into  the  subject 
to  which  I  so  continually  had  returned  at  each  of  my 
many  visits  during  the  past  three  months.  But  the 
President  interposed  a  question. 

"Did  you  meet  Stanton  as  you  came  in?"  he  asked. 

"I  did!"  I  replied.  "And  he  had  the  audacity  to 
bow  to  me !" 

"The  scoundrel !"  ejaculated  the  President.  "He  has 
been  here  an  hour  clamouring  for  the  blood  of  Davis  and 
Clay!" 

"  But  you  will  release  them?"  I  asked. 

"You  must  be  patient,"  answered  Mr.  Johnson.  "I 
must  detain  them  a  little  longer  to  satisfy  public 
clamour !" 

At  this  my  indignation  rose.  In  augmenting  emotion 
I  recapitulated  the  letters  and  indorsements  I  had 
brought  to  him  urging  my  husband's  release.  I  reiter- 
ated my  reasons  why  the  recommendations  of  these 
gentlemen  should  have  weight  with  him.  I  referred 
to  my  husband's  inability  to  combat  the  charges  that 
had  been  made  against  him,  while  denied  trial,  the  access 
of  counsel,  or  his  release  from  custody.  I  described 
his  ill-health  and  the  aged  father  at  home,  now  so  near 
to  death ;  I  rehearsed  my  husband's  past  services  to  his 
country  and  the  dishonourable  way  in  which  the  Govern- 


WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAY  365 

ment  had  acted  toward  this  self -surrendered  prisoner. 
I  spoke  the  thoughts  that  rose  in  my  heart,  irrespective 
of  the  consequences,  and,  having  massed  my  arguments 
in  this  way,  I  summed  them  all  up  in  one  uncontrollable 
protest : 

"And  now,  Mr.  President,"  I  asked,  "in  the  name  of 
God,  what  doth  hinder?  In  view  of  all  these  things, 
does  it  not  seem  that  you  are  the  lion  in  the  path  ?  Please 
tell  me  who  was  benefited  by  Mr.  Lincoln's  death  ?  Was 
it  Clement  C.  Clay  ?  What  good  accrued  to  him  from  the 
murder?  He  was  the  loved  representative  of  a  proud 
constituency.  He  is  now  pining  in  solitary  confinement. 
You,  Mr.  Johnson,  are  the  one  man  benefited !  You 
have  succeeded  to  the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the 
people !  You,  through  this  elevation,  have  become  the 
centre  of  a  nation's  hopes,  the  arbiter  of  life  and  death  ! " 
I  paused  in  my  plea,  at  a  movement  of  deprecation  made 
by  the  President,  but  I  would  not  be  halted. 

"You  have  promised  me,"  I  continued,  "and  Heaven 
knows  how  I  thank  you  for  it,  that  never  while  you  sit 
in  the  Presidential  chair  will  you  surrender  to  the  Military 
Commission  the  two  prisoners  in  Fortress  Monroe.  In 
that,  you  have  saved  their  lives  !  I  have  not  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  but  that  execution,  and  that  in  chains,  as  in 
Mrs.  Surratt's  case,  might  have  taken  place.  But,  when, 
notwithstanding  the  recommendations  of  such  men  as 
General  Grant,  Thaddeus  Stevens,  Judge  Walker,  and 
Henry  Wilson,  I  see  you  waiting  for  '  public  clamour '  to 
subside,  and,  at  the  same  time,  in  counsel  with  your 
Secretary  of  War,  I  am  afraid.  Again  I  implore  you  to 
stand  firmly,  my  friend ;  thus  far,  at  least,  by  not  yielding 
to  the  desires  of  that  wicked  Commission  and  staining 
your  soul  with  innocent  blood  !" 

Turning,  my  eyes  rested  upon  the  marble  bust  of  the 
late  President,  and  I  said,  "  Whose  bust  is  that  ? " 

"Mr.  Lincoln's,"  was  the  surprised  reply. 


366  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

"I  know  it!"  I  answered.  "But  is  he  not  a  dead 
President?  And  why,  may  I  ask,  do  you,  a  living  one, 
stand  surrounded  by  his  Cabinet?  Why  do  you  not 
reach  out  to  the  great  conservative  heart  of  this  Nation 
and  select  your  own  Cabinet?  Why  not  become  the 
popular  head,  as  you  can  become?  So  long  as  you 
stand,  Mr.  President,  as  the  barrier  between  your  Military 
Commission  and  my  husband  and  Mr.  Davis,  so  long  will 
I  dare  to  be  your  friend  to  the  extent  of  telling  you  what 
the  people  say  of  you  ! " 

"Well,  what  do  they  say?"  asked  the  President,  with 
an  air  of  indifference  which,  it  was  obvious,  was  assumed. 

"They  say,"  I  replied,  "that  you  should  get  rid  of  Mr. 
Lincoln's  Cabinet;  that  you  should  surround  yourself 
with  a  Cabinet  of  your  own !  Why  do  you  hobble  your- 
self with  a  dead  man's  advisers  ?  They  say,  too,  you  are 
swinging  in  too  circumscribed  a  circle !  I  have  even 
heard,"  I  added,  "hints  of  'impeachment'  uttered  in 
connection  with  the  dissatisfaction  resulting  from  your 
administration ! " 

During  my  bold  speech  the  President  gave  evidence 
of  being  deeply  moved,  if  not  irritated,  by  my  revelations ; 
and,  feeling  that  I  had  said  enough,  if,  indeed,  not  too 
much,  in  the  intensity  of  my  feelings,  Mrs.  Bouligny  and 
I  withdrew.  Ere  we  left  him,  however,  the  President  as- 
sured me,  as  he  so  often  had  done  (though  he  said  the 
words  over  each  time  with  an  earnest  gravity  that  was 
void  of  consciousness  of  his  repetition),  that  he  would 
"confer  as  to  the  release  in  our  next  Cabinet  meeting !" 


CHAPTER  XXX 
The  Government  Yields  Its  Prisoner 

By  the  early  spring  of  '66  the  faces  of  old  friends  began 
to  reappear  in  the  Northern  cities.  New  York,  which  I 
necessarily  visited  at  times  during  those  eventful  months, 
when  not  at  the  Fort  with  Mr.  Clay  or  beseeching  the 
President  on  his  behalf,  was  crowded  with  Southern 
people,  many  of  whom  were  returning  from  abroad,  or 
were  industriously  seeking  to  reestablish  business  con- 
nections. In  the  capital  one  met  on  every  hand  friends 
of  the  ante-bellum  days,  saddened  and  changed,  it  might 
be,  in  fortune,  but  brave-spirited  and  walking  with  heads 
upright  and  hearts  strong  to  meet  the  future.  "I  am 
persuaded  that  our  States  and  people  are  to  be  prosperous, 
despite  the  portentous  clouds  which  are  now  around  us," 
wrote  Mr.  Mallory,  from  Bridgeport,  Connecticut,  where, 
now  an  invalid,  he  was  constrained  to  remain;  "and  that 
the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  you  and  your  incom- 
parable lord,  with  other  congenial  spirits,  will  smile  at 
fate  and  look  back  to  the  paths  we  are  now  treading 
with  more  of  pride  than  of  sorrow!  My  love  to  Clay. 
God  love  him !  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  able  to 
serve  him!" 

A  spirit  as  loyal  and  comforting  to  us  pervaded  the 
circle  of  old-time  associates  in  Washington,  and  per- 
meated the  newer  ones  who  had  gathered  about  me  in  my 
adversity.  Mrs.  Parker,  the  brilliant  hostess  of  the 
Buchanan  days,  who  now  so  hospitably  had  thrown  open 
her  home  to  me,  proved  an  unsparing  and  faithful  friend. 
Her  hospitality  to  me  and  to  the  legion  of  other  friends 

367 


368  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

who  flocked  to  offer  their  sympathy  and  services  to  me  was 
unstinted,  and  the  several  members  of  her  family  vied 
with  each  other  in  extending  their  kindnesses  and  pro- 
tection to  me. 

Among  the  friends  who  reappeared  in  Washington 
about  this  time,  my  diary  notes  the  calls  upon  me  early 
in  '66  of  fair  Constance  Cary  and  her  fiance,  Burton 
Harrison,*  long  since  released  from  the  imprisonment 
which,  for  a  time,  he  shared  with  Mr.  Davis;  of  my 
kinswoman,  Mrs.  Polk,  of  North  Carolina,  and  of  Madame 
Le  Vert,  the  brilliant  Octavia  Walton,  who,  almost  three 
decades  before,  had  led  all  other  fascinating  beauties  in 
the  capital.  Accompanied  by  her  daughters,  Mme.  Le 
Vert  had  returned  to  the  North  to  intercede  for  the 
pardons  of  General  Beauregard  and  others  of  her  kin  and 
friends.  Her  comings  and  goings  were  heralded  every- 
where. She  was  the  distinguished  member  of  the 
Southern  coterie  in  New  York,  whence  frequent  trips 
were  made  to  the  capital,  and  it  was  commonly  remarked 
that  the  charm  of  her  personality  had  suffered  no  diminu- 
tion with  the  increase  of  years. 

Our  beloved  General  Lee,  who  had  been  summoned  to 
Washington  to  appear  before  the  Reconstruction  Com- 
mittee, was  the  lion  of  the  day.  I  saw  him  several  times, 
surrounded  by  hosts  of  admirers,  the  ladies  begging  for 
mementoes,  buttons — anything,  in  fact,  he  might  be 
persuaded  to  give  up,  while  he,  modest  and  benevolent, 
yielded  helplessly  to  their  demands.  It  was  during 
these  months  that  I  became  acquainted  with  the  lovely 
Mme.  de  Podestad,  General  Lee's  kinswoman,  who  was 
both  witty  and  beautiful.  For  a  number  of  years,  as 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  Spanish  Minister's  suite,  she  was  a 
conspicuous  member  of  Washington  society.  Going 
thence  to  Spain,  she  became  lady-in-waiting  to  the 
Queen.     Madame  de  Podestad  was  a  devoted  admirer  of 

*  Mr.  Harrison  died  in  Washington,  March  29,  1904.     A.  S. 


MRS.  A.  S.  PARKER 
of  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER   369 

her  heroic  kinsman,  and  I  saw  much  of  her  in  those 
memorable  days  of  '66. 

It  was  a  time  of  intense  political  excitement.  The 
strife  over  the  Civil  Rights  bill  was  the  absorbing  topic 
everywhere.  The  "returning  good  sense  of  the  people," 
upon  which  the  President  so  long  had  appeared  to  depend, 
was  less  apparent  than  he  had  hoped,  and  to  many 
astute  minds  the  air  seemed  to  vibrate  with  premonitions 
of  the  Government's  overthrow.  Cabinet  changes  were 
so  earnestly  desired  that  a  discussion  of  that  body  became 
part  of  every  conversation.  Mr.  Johnson's  absorption 
in  the  progress  of  the  Civil  Rights  bill  was  so  great,  that, 
upon  my  return  from  a  visit  to  my  husband,  early  in 
April,  realising  the  inadvisability  and  the  inconsiderate- 
ness  of  pressing  my  demands  at  that  moment,  I  yielded 
to  the  urgings  of  my  friends  and  entered  upon  a  short 
season  of  diversion.  I  remember  to  have  visited,  in 
company  with  Senator  Bright  and  Mr.  Voorhees,  the 
studio  of  Vinnie  Reames,  whose  vogue  in  Washington 
was  then  at  its  height ;  and  I  indulged  in  a  pleasure  trip 
to  Baltimore,  where  a  great  fair  was  in  progress  which 
had  been  arranged  by  the  patriotic  ladies  of  that  city. 
Contributions  had  poured  in,  and  half  the  capital  was 
in  attendance. 

"Mrs.  Johnson  sent  a  superb  basket  of  flowers," 
reads  the  account  I  sent  home,  "which  was  raffled  for 
sixty  dollars !  A  portrait  of  the  President  was  bought 
and  sent  to  her.  Also  General  Johnston's  and  General 
Lee's  were  bought  and  sent  to  their  wives.  Mr.  Corcoran 
won  the  portrait  of  'Stonewall'  Jackson.  Admiral 
Semmes  was  present  one  day,  and  he  and  I  promenaded 
the  rooms  together.  Though  not  the  'Pirate's  Bride,'  I 
was  proud  of  his  company.  A  robe  de  chambre  for  Mr. 
Davis  and  a  superb  pillow  for  Mr.  Clay  are  in  my  pos- 
session. Will  take  them  soon!  Ross  Wynans,"  I 
added,  in  describing  the  more  generous  donations  sent 


370  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

to  the  energetic  ladies,  "has  sent  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  and  an  English  gentleman  twenty-five  thousand  ! " 

Admiral  Semmes  was  the  most  recent  of  the  State 
prisoners  to  be  released,  and  his  appearance  at  the  fair 
was  the  signal  for  a  lively  enthusiasm.  By  this  time 
Mr.  Stephens,  our  late  Vice-President,  was  a  free  man,  and 
thrice  had  called  upon  me  in  Washington  to  offer  sym- 
pathetic suggestions  concerning  the  case  of  my  husband, 
so  inexplicably  detained.  Our  dear  friend,  ex-Secretary 
of  the  Navy  Mallory,  had  been  given  his  liberty  early 
in  March. 

"Deeply  anxious  about  your  good  husband,"  Mr. 
Mallory  wrote,  early  in  April,  "  I  have  deferred  writing 
to  you  from  day  to  day  since  my  release,  confident  that 
I  would  soon  be  able  to  congratulate  you  upon  his  release. 
Persuaded  that  he  will  never  be  called  upon  seriously  to 
respond  to  the  charge  upon  which  he  was  incarcerated, 
and  unable  to  perceive  any  reason  or  motive  for  dis- 
criminating between  him  and  others,  myself  included, 
who  laboured  in  the  Confederate  cause,  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
conceive  why  this  confinement  continues.  Of  course,  I 
fully  appreciate  the  character  of  the  struggle  between 
the  two  great  departments  of  the  Government,  and  the 
embarrassments  which  it  throws  in  the  President's  path; 
and  hence  I  attribute  to  this  cause  all  which  affects  Mr. 
Clay,  and  which  I  cannot  otherwise  account  for.  But 
the  restoration  of  civil  law  throughout  the  country- 
opens  a  way  which  his  friends  may  very  properly  take 
.  .  .  and  I  have  been  prepared  to  learn  it  has  been 
entered  upon !" 

A  resort  to  the  habeas  corpus  proceedings  thus  suggested 
by  Mr.  Mallory  had  already  been  discussed  by  Judge 
Black  as  a  step  to  be  taken  when  all  other  efforts  had 
proved  unsuccessful.  By  the  fourteenth  of  March,  Mr. 
Johnson's  courage  to  act  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Clay  had  risen 
to  the  point  of  procuring  for  him  the  liberty  of  the  Fort 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER    371 

without  guard,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  which  order  I  had 
carried  at  once  to  General  Miles. 

"I  have  not  yet  called  upon  the  President,"  I  wrote 
father  upon  my  return  from  Fortress  Monroe,  on  the 
29th  of  March,  "  but  will  report  myself  to-morrow  and  ask 
of  him  that  no  revocation  of  the  late  order  shall  be  made. 
I  shall  urge  Mr.  Clay's  release,  if  only  temporary,  that  he 
may  come  and  see  you  and  help  you  arrange  your  busi- 
ness. .  .  .  The  Radical  pressure  on  the  President  is 
fearful.  They  have  expelled  Foote,  and  have  persuaded 
Stewart,  of  Nevada,  his  son-in-law,  to  desert  his  colours 
and  cause,  and  they  may  pass  the  veto  over  the  President's 
manly  veto  of  the  Civil  Rights  bill.  But  President 
Johnson  will  fall,  if  fall  he  must,  battling  !" 

The  records  of  my  calls  upon  the  Executive  during  the 
weeks  that  followed  almost  might  be  traced  by  the 
many  pencilled  cards  sent  me  by  Mr.  Johnson  from  time 
to  time. 

"  It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  see  you  until  it  is  too 
late.  I  am  pressed  to  death!"  reads  one.  "There  is  a 
committee  here  in  consultation;  I  cannot  tell  what  time 
they  will  leave.  I  fear  too  late,  but  see  if  in  twenty 
minutes,"  runs  another.  And  a  third,  "Some  matters  of 
importance  are  now  transpiring.  I  will  see  you  at  any 
time,  but  would  prefer  passing  the  answer  until  Satur- 
day." Weeks  passed  thus  in  futile  calls  and  beseechings, 
until,  having  tested  every  expedient  to  hasten  the 
President  to  the  fulfilling  of  his  promise,  my  patience  was 
exhausted. 

"Again  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  writing,"  I  began 
in  a  letter  to  my  sister,  dated  the  fourteenth  of  April, 
"without  announcing  my  husband's  release!  Nor  can 
I  give  you  any  definite  information  save  what  I  mean  to 
do  and  wish  others  to  do.  I  am  at  this  moment  from 
the  President's ;  did  not  see  him,  but  left  a  note  inquiring 
when  I  could,  and  [asked]  to  be  informed  by  note,  which 


372  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

he  often  does  in  my  case.  He  shall  tell  me  in  this  inter- 
view whether  he  means  speedily  to  release  Mr.  Clay. 
If  not,  then  I  will  have  issued  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus, 
unless  Judge  Black  oppose  it !" 

At  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  however,  I  added,  "The 
President  sent  for  me  to-night,  and  I  have  strong  hopes 
that  Mr.  Clay  will  be  released  in  a  few  days !  I  will 
telegraph  you  immediately  when  it  occurs.  I  pray 
Heaven  it  may  be  ere  this  reaches  you  ! ' ' 

Three  days  later,  accompanied  by  my  faithful  friend, 
Mrs.  Bouligny,  I  again  called  upon  the  President.  It 
was  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Having  detected,  as  I 
believed,  a  disposition  on  Mr.  Johnson's  part  yet  further 
to  procrastinate,  notwithstanding  his  recent  promises 
that  he  would  order  Mr.  Clay's  release,  I  was  resolved  not 
to  leave  the  White  House  again  without  the  requisite 
papers.  I  announced  this  intention  to  the  President  as 
he  greeted  us,  asking  him  at  the  same  time  whether  he 
would  not  spare  me  another  moment's  anxiety  and  write 
me  the  long-petitioned-for  order  for  Mr.  Clay's  release. 

Mr.  Johnson's  mood  was  light.  He  repeated  some  of 
the  on  dits  of  the  day,  trying  in  various  ways  to  divert  me 
from  my  object,  to  which,  however,  I  as  often  persistently 
returned.  From  time  to  time  other  visitors  entered  to 
claim  the  President's  attention;  or,  he  excused  himself 
while  he  went  into  a  Committee  meeting  which  was  being 
held  in  an  adjoining  room.  During  such  an  interval  I 
sat  at  the  President's  desk  and  scribbled  a  short  letter  in 
pencil  to  Mr.  Clay.     It  was  dated : 

"Executive  Mansion,  Washington,  D.  C, 

April  17,  1866. 
"My  precious  husband!"  I  wrote.  "Behold  me  seated  in 
the  library  of  this  house,  in  the  President's  chair,  writing  you 
the  'glad  tidings  of  great  joy  ! '  The  President  has  just  gone 
in  for  a  few  moments  to  see  some  gentlemen,  and  will  bring 
me  your  release  papers  when  he  returns !     He  told  me  on  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER     373 

fourteenth  that  he  would  try  to  have  them,  but  not  to  be  too 
hopeful.  So  I  came  with  some  misgiving,  to  be  relieved  and 
rejoiced.  Ere  this  will  reach  you,  you  will  be  informed  by 
telegram  of  the  release.  I  will  telegraph  you  to-night.  .  .  . 
Judge  Black  anxiously  desires  to  see  you,  also  Judge  Hughes, 
both  kind  friends  to  me  !  " 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening  when  I  wrote  this 
buoyant  epistle,  which  immediate  after-events  scarcely 
bore  out.  The  President  returned  again  and  again  to  my 
companion  and  me,  but  ten  o'clock  arrived  and  still  the 
papers  had  not  been  given  me.  I  was  growing  more 
and  more  impatient,  but  upon  reiterating  my  intention 
not  to  leave  without  the  papers,  the  President  became 
somewhat  jocular.  He  invited  Mrs.  Bouligny  and  me  to 
make  ourselves  comfortable,  his  words  being  accompanied 
by  an  evasive  smile.  My  soul  rose  up  in  resentment  at 
this ! 

"You  seem  to  be  inclined  to  treat  this  matter  lightly, 
Mr.  President,"  I  said  hotly.  "I  am  indignant!  I 
want  the  paper  !"  Alas  !  my  protest  did  not  win  me  a 
direct  compliance.  The  hands  of  a  nearby  clock  already 
pointed  to  eleven  when,  the  President  having  seated  him- 
self at  a  desk  or  writing-table  that  stood  at  hand,  I 
rose  and  stepped  to  his  side. 

"Mr.  President,"  I  said,  "are  you  going  to  give  me 
that  paper?  I  will  not  go  until  you  do!"  My  words 
were  hurled  at  him  angrily.  He  looked  up  at  me  curi- 
ously, and  the  half-cynical  smile  on  his  face  changed. 
It  was  as  if,  notwithstanding  the  ardour  with  which  I  had 
urged  my  demand  throughout  the  evening,  he  now  for 
the  first  time  realised  I  was  not  to  be  put  off. 

"Give  me  the  paper,  Mr.  Johnson!"  I  urged.  "I  am 
resolved  to  have  it!" 

My  imperative  demand  at  last  proved  effectual.  The 
President  turned  without  further  demur  and  wrote  a 
brief  note,  which,  upon  calling  an  attendant,  he  sent  out 


374  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

immediately.     In  a  few  moments  the  messenger  returned, 
bearing  a  paper  which  read  as  follows: 

"War  Department,  Washington,  D.  C, 

"April  17,  1866. 
"Ordered: 

"That  Clement  C.  Clay,  Jr.,  is  hereby  released  from  confine- 
ment and  permitted  to  return  to  and  remain  in  the  State  of 
Alabama,  and  to  visit  such  other  places  in  the  United  States 
as  his  personal  business  may  render  absolutely  necessary, 
upon  the  following  conditions,  viz.:  That  he  takes  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  the  United  States,  and  gives  his  parole  of 
honour,  to  conduct  himself  as  a  loyal  citizen  of  the  same,  and 
to  report  himself  in  person  at  any  time  and  place  to  answer 
any  charges  that  may  hereafter  be  preferred  against  him  by 
the  United  States. 

"By  order  of  the  President, 

"E.  D.  Townsend, 
"Ass't  Adgt.  General." 

The  paper,  prepared  by  the  hand  of  an  amanuensis, 
had  been  written  at  and  dated  from  the  Executive 
Mansion,  and  a  space  beneath  had  been  reserved  for  the 
name  of  the  Secretary  of  War.  When  it  reached  my 
hand,  however,  the  words  at  the  top,  viz. :  "  Executive 
Mansion,"  had  been  crossed  out  and  "War  Department" 
substituted;  the  space  for  signature  had  been  filled  in 
with  the  name  of  Mr.  Stanton's  assistant,  General  Town- 
send,  and  the  words  "Secretary  of  War"  (below)  had 
been  crossed  out.  The  changes  were  made  in  a  different 
ink  from  that  used  in  the  body  of  the  paper.  The 
document  was  a  curious  additional  proof  of  Mr.  Stanton's 
personal  indisposition  to  release  his  illegally  detained 
prisoner,  and  of  Mr.  Johnson's  equal  evasion  of  the 
responsibility  of  freeing  him.  As  neither  name  appeared 
upon  the  document,  it  would  seem  as  if  a  "muddle"  had 
been  intended  in  the  event  of  some  later  complications 
arising. 

It  was  already  toward  the  midnight  hour  when  this 
document  was  handed  to  me.     I  seized  it  eagerly,  and, 


rwm  sw 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS  and   CLEMENT  C.  CLAY,  JR, 
(after  release  from  Fortress  Monroe) 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER     375 

thanking  the  President  for  at  last  performing  the  act  for 
which  I  had  so  long  pleaded,  I  hurried  to  the  carriage 
which  had  been  in  waiting  and  ordered  the  coachman  to 
drive  with  all  haste  to  the  telegraph  office.  As  I  parted 
from  the  President  he  expressed  the  warmest  good 
wishes  for  Mr.  Clay's  health  and  our  future,  and  pressed 
upon  me  an  autographed  carte  de  visite,  which  I  took 
with  no  less  surprise  than  pleasure,  being  glad  to  see 
in  the  politician  before  me  this  evidence  of  the  inner, 
sympathetic  man.  Though  our  horses  dashed  down  the 
avenue  at  breakneck  speed,  it  was  within  a  few  moments 
of  twelve  o'clock  when  I  hurried  into  the  telegraph 
office. 

"Can  you  send  a  telegram  to-night?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  Madam,"  was  the  reply. 

Inexpressibly  relieved,  I  dictated  these  words: 

"Honourable  C.  C.  Clay,  Fort  Monroe. 

"You  are  released  !     Have  written  you  to-night. 

"V.  C.  C." 

The  President's  telegram  to  the  Fortress  having  been 
sent  simultaneously  with  mine,  my  husband  was  given 
his  freedom  the  next  day.  There  remained,  however, 
yet  a  few  duties  to  perform  ere  I  might  join  him  at 
Petersburg,  whence  we  together  were  to  return  to  our 
beloved  home;  to  Alabama,  with  its  purple  and  russet 
mountains  and  spreading  valleys,  its  warm  hearts  and 
loyal  friends,  and  where  waited  the  feeble  and  eager 
father,  ex-Governor  Clay,  whose  remaining  tenure  of 
life  was  to  be  so  short.  There  were  kindnesses  to  be 
acknowledged  ere  I  left  the  capital,  and  on  every  side  I 
met  detaining  hands  overwhelming  me  with  congratula- 
tions on  my  success  at  last.  The  evening  before  my 
departure,  the  venerable  former  Vice-President  of  the 
Confederate  States  called  upon  me  to  extend  his  good 
wishes  for  the  future.     Being  deterred  from  coming  in 


376  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

person,  Judge  Black  wrote  several  notes  full  of  his 
characteristic  impulsiveness. 

"  Dear  Madam,"  his  messages  ran,  "tell  your  great  and 
good  husband  I  could  do  nothing  for  him,  because  his 
magnificent  wife  left  nobody  else  a  chance  to  serve  him  ! 
I  would  have  been  proud  to  have  some  share  in  his 
defense,  but  circumstances  have  denied  me  the  honour. 
I  rejoice  none  the  less  in  his  happy  deliverance,  and  I 
have  no  right  to  envy  you  the  privilege  which  you  have 
used  so  grandly,  of  vindicating  his  stainless  name.  His 
liberation  under  the  circumstances  is  a  full  acknowledg- 
ment that  the  charges  against  him  in  the  proclamation 
are  infamously  false.  .  .  .  Your  note  of  yesterday 
evening  literally  took  my  breath  away.  After  you  had 
done  so  much  for  yourself  and  I  had  done  so  little,  nay, 
less  than  nothing,  you  address  me  as  if  I  had  been  your 
benefactor  merely  because   I  rejoiced  in  your  success. 

.  .  If  I  say  but  little,  you  must  not,  therefore,  sup- 
pose that  I  shall  ever  forget  your  amazing  eloquence,  your 
steadfast  courage  under  circumstances  which  might  have 
appalled  the  stoutest  heart;  your  unshaken  faith  where 
piety  itself  might  almost  have  doubted  the  justice  of 
God ;  the  prudence  with  which  you  instinctively  saw  what 
was  best  to  be  done,  and  the  delicacy  which  never  allowed 
the  charms  of  the  lady  to  be  lost  in  the  great  qualities  of 
the  heroine.  These  things  are  written  down  at  full 
length  in  the  book  of  my  memory,  where  every  day  I 
turn  the  leaf  to  read  them.  ...  I  cannot  forget  your 
sad  look  when  I  saw  you  at  Mrs.  Parker's  the  last  time. 
Do  not  allow  yourself  to  doubt  the  ultimate  triumph  of 
justice.  God  has  recorded  among  His  unalterable  decrees 
that  no  lie  shall  live  forever! 

"Remember,  if  I  can  serve  you  it  will  always  seem  like 
a  privilege  to  do  it.  In  feudal  times,  when  the  liege  man 
did  homage  to  his  suzeraine,  he  put  his  head  between  her 
hands  (if  it  was  a  queen  or  a  lady)  and  declared  himself 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER     377 

hers  to  do  her  commands ;  to  be  the  friend  of  her  friends, 
and  the  enemy  of  her  enemies,  for  life  and  limb  and 
earthly  honours.  Imagine  the  homage  vowed  in  proper 
form,  and  claim  your  authority  as  suzeraine  whenever  you 
please.  I  ought  to  add  that  Mrs.  Black  was  so  wrought 
upon  by  your  conversation  that  she  has  longed  to  see  you 
again,  and  her  whole  heart,  an  honest  and  good  one  as 
ever  beat,  is  yours." 

"You  went  to  work  like  a  true  wife,"  was  the  message 
sent  by  my  dear  old  mess-mate,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  ,"and 
God  blessed  you  for  it.  Did  you  see  Mr.  Holt  ?  I  have 
heard  he  was  our  bitterest  enemy.     Can  it  be  so?" 

"Ten  thousand  thanks  to  God,  my  dear  friend,  for 
your  release!"  wrote  Mr.  Mallory  to  my  husband. 
"May  He  punish  with  rigorous  justice 
your  unjustifiable  and  most  cruel  incarceration !  My 
wife  and  I,  if  indescribables  would  permit  us,  would 
dance  for  joy  to-day  at  the  news  of  your  release. 
Love  to  your  wife !  God  bless  her  bright  spirit  and 
noble  heart;  and  may  we  meet  in  Florida,  one  acre  of 
whose  barrens  I  would  not  give  for  all  New  England  ! " 

From  Mr.  Lamar,  "dear  old  Lushe,"  the  following 
tender  word  came:  "Ah,  my  friend,  you  know  not  how 
often,  how  constantly  my  heart  has  been  with  you ! 
Often  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  when  all  around  was 
hushed  in  sleep,  have  I  wept  over  your  fate  !  .  .  .  I 
have  not  time  to  write  now,  except  to  beg  you  to  come 
right  here  and  make  your  abode  with  me.  We  have  a 
large  house.  Oh,  do,  Mr.  Clay,  do  come  and  see  me !  I 
would  share  the  last  dollar  I  have  with  you.  Come,  my 
friend,  and  live  with  me,  and  let  us  henceforth  be  insepar- 
able. Please  come.  I  believe  the  sight  of  you  will 
restore  my  health;  at  least,  if  anything  can. 

"Your   devoted   brother,    L.    Q.    C.    Lamar."* 

*  Mr.  Clay's  response  to  this  letter  is  printed  in  Mayes'  "Life  of 
Lamar."     (Page  122.) 


378  A  BELLE  OF  THE  FIFTIES 

The  sight  of  these  letters  of  long  ago  sets  the  tears 
gushing,  and  awakens  a  thousand  tender  memories  of 
kind  hearts  that  long  since  ceased  to  beat  to  the  emotions 
of  pain  or  pleasure.  Oh !  the  vast  army  of  men  and 
women  who,  by  their  sympathy  in  those  last  crucial  days 
of  my  experiences  in  the  capital,  were  a  buoy  to  my 
courage,  and  that  of  my  husband,  broken  in  health,  and 
heart,  and  spirit,  as  we  turned  back  to  our  home  in 
Alabama ! 

The  news  of  his  mother's  death,  which  came  to  Mr. 
Clay  a  few  days  after  his  release  from  Fortress  Monroe, 
fell  upon  him  like  a  pall.  I  could  not  induce  him  to 
visit  Washington,  to  which  city  powerful  friends  had 
invited  him.  He  had  but  one  wish;  to  return  to  his 
stricken  father,  far  from  the  turbulent  political  centre, 
where  a  man's  life  and  honour  were  but  as  a  pawn  in  the 
hands  of  the  unscrupulous  politicians  of  that  day. 

A  few  months  and  his  father  had  passed  away,  glad- 
dened, despite  the  vicissitudes  of  his  later  days,  that  his 
cherished  son  at  last  was  restored  to  him.  We  laid  the 
tired  body  beside  that  of  the  little  mother.  Together  they 
sleep  in  the  valley  that  smiles  up  so  perennially  to  the 
crest  of  Monte  Sano.  A  few  years  of  effort  for  my  sake,  to 
retain  an  interest  in  the  world  which  to  his  broken  heart 
appeared  so  cruel  and  hollow,  and  my  husband  withdrew 
to  our  mountain  home,  sweet  with  the  incense  of  the 
cedars ;  to  his  books  and  the  contemplation  of  nature ;  to 
the  companionship  of  the  simple  and  the  young.  Yet  a  few 
more  years,  and  he,  too,  fell  wearily  to  sleep,  and  was  put 
to  rest  beside  those  he  had  so  well  loved.  I  can  think  of 
no  more  fitting  close  to  this  portion  of  my  memories  than 
these  brief  quotations,  from  some  of  the  hundreds  of 
tributes  which  came  from  all  quarters  of  the  land,  like 
the  up  welling  of  healing  springs  in  the  desert,  when  at 
last  I  was  left  alone. 

One  who  sat  in  the  Senate  Chamber  in  Washington, 


THE  GOVERNMENT  YIELDS  ITS  PRISONER    379 

scanning  a  later  generation  of  his  fellows,  all  eager  in 
the  strife  for  the  fame  that  is  the  guerdon  of  the  true 
statesman,  wrote  thus  of  Mr.  Clay,  his  predecessor: 

"You  knew  him  best,  having  proved  him,  by  a  long 
association  in  the  sacred  character  of  wife,  in  many  years 
of  trial  filled  with  memorable  vicissitudes,  as  a  true  and 
knightly  gentleman,  a  devout  Christian,  a  loyal  husband 
and  friend,  a  patriot  of  the  sternest  type,  a  statesman  of 
great  ability,  and  the  devoted  son  of  Alabama.  In  my 
course  of  thought  and  conduct,  as  his  successor  in  the  Senate, 
I  have  thought  it  well  to  accept  his  standard  as  that  which 
would  best  help  me  worthily  to  represent  our  beloved  State. 
Mr.  Clay  left  a  character  here  which  stands  greatly  to  the 
credit  of  the  State,  and  will  be  quoted  long  after  we  have 
passed  away,  in  proof  of  the  character  of  the  people  he  so 
worthily  represented.  His  name  and  public  history  in  the 
Senate  are  a  cause  of  pride  to  our  people. 

"Your  sincere  friend, 

"John  T.  Morgan." 

And  one  who  had  been  our  intimate  friend  for  more 
than  thirty  years,  Bishop  Henry  C.  Lay,  wrote  of  my 
dear  one  thus : 

"  How  gentle  and  kind  he  was !  How  fond  of  young 
things,  and  how  tender  to  the  weak  and  helpless  !  Espe- 
cially was  he  a  singularly  devoted  husband,  giving  you 
his  admiration  and  his  confidence.  .  .  .  Life  seemed 
very  full  of  promise  to  him  in  those  days.  It  was  a  sad 
change  when  the  storm  arose,  with  its  exile,  imprison- 
ment, disappointed  hopes,  retirement  into  seclusion  and 
inaction !  Truly  your  life,  with  its  opposite  poles  in 
Washington  and  Alabama,  has  been  a  varied  one  !  " 

The  End 


INDEX 


Acklin,  Miss  Corinne,  97,  117. 
Adams,  J.  Q.,  62. 
Aiken,  Frederick  A.,  309,  320. 
Alabama,  University  of,  17. 
Aldrich,  Reverend  Mr.,  241. 
Apothleohola,    108-10. 
Arlington,  Anne,  3. 
Arlington,  General  William,  3. 
Ashley,  Lord,  117. 
Astor,  John  Jacob,  42. 
Ayr,  Colonel,  307. 

Baggioli,  Signor,  97. 
Baker,  General,  279-80. 
Bannister,  Reverend  J.  M.,  183. 
Barrow,  Commodore,  174. 
Barry,  Mrs.  Captain  du,  222. 
Bass,  Mrs.  (of  Mississippi),  72. 
Battle,  Alfred,  6-7. 
Battle,  Mrs.  Alfred,  6-1 1. 
Battle,  William,  7. 
Bayard,  Thomas  F.,  92,  117-18. 
Bayard,  The  Misses,  78. 
Baylor,  Eugene,  132. 
Beauregard,  General  G.  T.,  188-9, 

368. 
Benjamin,   Judah  P.,  238-42. 
Bennett,  James  Gordon,  118. 
Benning,  General,  205. 
Benton,    Thomas    Hart,    42,    77, 

80,  150. 
Bertinatti,  The  Chevalier,  38,  40, 

71-2. 
Bickley,  Captain  R.  W.,  298. 
Bierne,  Miss  Bettie,  36. 
Big  Spring,  162. 
Birmingham,  Alabama  17. 
Bishop,  Mme.  Anna,  104. 
Black,    Judge   Jeremiah   S.,   300, 

309-10,  314,  329,  362, 370, 376. 
Blair,  Montgomery,  152. 
Blakeman,  Captain,  332-33. 
Blind  Tom,  104-5. 
Blount,  Mrs.,  95. 
Bochsa,  The  harpist,  104. 


Bodisco,  Baron  Alexandre  de,  25, 

31.  39- 

Bodisco,  Baroness,  31-4. 
Bodisco,  Waldemar,  34. 
Boileau,  Mme.  Gauldree,  78-9. 
Bouligny,  J.  E.,  119. 
Bouligny,  Mrs.  M.  E.  P.,  81,  281, 

318, 364-6, 373. 
Bozio,  Mme.,  101. 
Bragg,  General  Braxton,  191. 
Breckinridge,  General  J.  C,  173. 
Bright,  Senator  John,  369. 
Brooks,  Maria  Brewster,  9. 
Brooks,  Preston,  51,  95. 
Brooks-Sumner  encounter,  104. 
Brougham,  John,  103. 
Brown,  Aaron  V.,  69,  70. 
Brown,  Mrs.  Aaron  V.,  69. 
Brown,  Senator  A.  G.,  140. 
Brown,  John  Potts,  237. 
Brown,  Robert  W.,  187. 
Brown,  Miss  Rose,  43. 
Buchanan,  James  20,  63,  77,  87, 

90,  106,  108,  150. 
Buckner,  Simon  B.,  173. 
Buell,  General  D.  C.,  172. 
Buena  Vista,  68. 
Burlingame,  Anson,   142. 
Butler,  Senator  A.  P.,  218. 

Calhoun,  John  C,  77. 
Camerana,  Marchisa  Incisa  de,  72. 
Campbell,  Miss  Henrietta,  76. 
Campbell,  John  A.,  64,  74-5,  178, 

243- 
Campbell,  Mrs.  John  A.,  76. 
Capers,  Bishop,  17. 
Carlisle,  J.  M.,  292,  320. 
Cary,  Clarence,  174. 
Cary,  Miss  Constance,  174-5. 
Cass,  Miss  Belle,  30. 
Cass,  Lewis,   77. 
Castle  Garden,  10 1. 
Catron,  Judge  John,  74. 
Catron,  Mrs.  Judge  John,  74. 


38l 


382 


I N  DEX — Continued 


Cavendish,  Lord,  117. 

Chaillu,  Paul  du,  in. 

Chambers,  Judge  William  L.,  55. 

Chapman,  Governor  Reuben,  182. 

Chase,  Chevy,  28. 

Chase,  Salmon  P.,  58. 

Chestnut,   Mrs.    General,    43,    50, 

206,  227. 
Clarke,  Daniel,  82. 
Clay  "Castle,"  18. 
Clay,  C.   C,   St.,   19,  74,   83,  88, 

109-10,  236,  281,  375. 
Clay,  Mrs.  C.  C,  St.,  19,  35. 
Clay,  Clement  Claiborne,   11,   15, 

17,  88,  97,  132,  139,  143-7.  157. 

161, 193,  195,  204,  242, 245, 248. 
Clay,  Henry,  77,  88. 
Clay,  Hugh  Lawson,  28,  154,  164, 

206,  235-6,  242-4. 
Clay,    Mrs.    Hugh    Lawson,    166, 

175,  191,  195,  243. 
Clay,  James  B.,  88. 
Clay,  J.  Withers,  228,  236-7,  254. 
Clay,  Mrs.  J.  Withers,  284-5,  34°- 
Clemens,  Jere,  13-14,  19-21,  161. 
Cleveland,  Grover,  75,  92,  118. 
Clingman,  Gen'l  Thomas  L.,  95, 

3°7- 
Clopton,  David,  43. 
Clopton,  Mrs.  David,  55. 
Clyde,  The  William  P.,  260. 
Cobb,  Howell,  30,  121,  210,  240-2, 

248. 
Cobb,  Mrs.  Howell,  30. 
Cobb,  W.  R.  W.,  21,  23. 
Cohen,  Miss,  104. 
Coke,  Mrs.,  71. 
Collier,  Miss  Evelyn,  50. 
Collier,  Governor  H.  W.,  4,  15,  17, 

44- 
Collier,  Mrs.  H.  W.,  6-9. 
Columbus,  Mississippi,  15. 
Colquitt,  Alfred,  195. 
Comer,  Major  Anderson,  191. 
Comer,  Miss  L.,  84,  128,  135,  215. 
Cooper,  Elva  E.,  352. 
Cooper,  Dr.  George  E.,  333,  350- 

2-3- 
Corcoran,  Louise,  121. 
Corcoran,   W.  W.,  120,  123,  308. 
Corcoran  &  Riggs,  81. 
Crampton,    British    Minister,    25, 

36. 
Craven,  Dr.  John  J.,  298,333,  345. 


Crisp,  The  Comedian,  10. 
Crittenden,  John  J.,  77,  83. 
Crittenden,  "Lady,"  84-5,  140-1. 
Croxton,  General,  279. 
Culver,  George,  155. 
Curry,  J.  L.  M.,  43,  55. 
Curry,  Mrs.  J.  L.  M.,  55. 
Cushing,  Caleb,  64. 
Cushman,  Charlotte,  103,  139. 
Cutting,  Mrs.  Brockholst,  95. 
Cutts,  Miss  Addie,  35,  106. 

Dahlgreen's  Raid,  203. 

Davis,   Jefferson,    68-9,    75,    147, 

i57.  i73.  23S>   244-6,  256-262, 

298,  348. 
Davis,    Mrs.    Jefferson,    54,    134, 

167,     206,     256-7,     265,     301, 

347-  _ 
Dean,  Julia,  102. 
"  Dearborns,"  5. 
Dickens,  Asbury,  77. 
Doane,   Bishop,   138. 
Dobbin,  Secretary  of  Navy,  64-8. 
Dolan,  Pat,  57. 
Douglas,    Mrs.    Stephen    A.,    35, 

133.  3IQ- 
Dowdell,  Congressman,  20,  23,  25, 

48,  49. 
Drake,  Major,  4. 
Drew,  Mrs.,  176. 
Duke,  Colonel  Basil,  191. 
Du  Val,  Mrs.  Gabriel,  170. 

Eames,  ex-Minister  to  Venezuela, 

140. 
Earle,  Mrs.  Mattie  Orr,  52. 
Ebbitt  House,  25,  42,  51,  59,  314. 
Echols,  Major  W.  H.,  302-5,  315. 
Eggleston,  Colonel,  248-51. 
Emily,  61,  101,  130,  169,  242,  278. 
Endicott,  Mrs.,  79. 
Enquirer,  The  Richmond,  26,  237. 
Erlanger,  Baron  d',  30. 
Evans,  Augusta,  207. 
Evarts,  William  M.,  344. 
Ewing,  Thomas,  288. 

Fern,  Fanny,  58. 
Fillmore,  President,  83. 
Fitzpatrick,  Benj.,  20,  55,  147. 
Fitzpatrick,  Mrs.,  25,  55,  57,  91, 
377- 


INDEX — Continued 


383 


Fitzpatrick,  Master  Benny,  55-7. 

Fitzsimmons,  Miss  Catherine,  213. 

Flash,  Captain  Harry,  197. 

Forrest,  Edwin,  102. 

Fort,  Mr.,  4. 

Fort,  Martha,  4,  15. 

Fort,  Mary,  4. 

Fortress  Monroe,  94,  240,  261-2, 

269,   281,    298,   334-7.    345-S2. 
„  378-9- 

Fraley,  Captain,  260. 
Fremont,     Mrs.     Jessie     Benton, 

78-80. 
French,  Dr.,  284-5. 
French,  General  S.  D.,  199. 

Gaines,  General,  82-3. 

Gaines,  Mrs.  Myra  Clarke,  82-3. 

Gamble,  Mrs.  (of  Louisville,  Ky.), 

3°3- 
Gamester,  The,  10. 
Gardner,  Charles,  25. 
Garfield,  James  A.,  62. 
Garland,  James,  307. 
Garner,  Colonel,  192. 
Garnett,  Muscoe,  50. 
Garrett,  Mr.,  107-8. 
Gautier's,  31,  70. 
Georgetown,  28,  31. 
Gilbert,  Mrs.,  103. 
Glentworth,  Hamilton,  138. 
Gordon,  General  John  B.,  206. 
Gottschalk,  Louis,  49. 
Granger,  General,  331. 
Grant,  U.  S.,  20,  315-17,  357. 
Grant,  Mrs.  U.  S.,  316,  317. 
Greeley,  Horace,  330. 
Green  Academy,  160-3. 
Green,  Duff,  300. 
Greenhow,  Mrs.  35. 
Grey  Eagle,  The,  155-6. 
Grisi,  Mme.,  101. 
Guthrie,     Secretary     James     V., 

3°.  7°- 
Gwin,  Senator  W.  M.,  86, 126,  132. 
Gwin,  Mrs.  W.  M.,  126-37,  x52- 

Haldeman,  R.  J.,  289,  292,  357. 
Halleck,  General  H.  W.,  260. 
Hamersley,  Mrs.  120. 
Hammond,  E.  S.,  212. 
Hammond,  Senator  J.  H.,  96,  213, 

231-2. 
Hammond,  Mrs.  J.  H.,  219,  232. 


Hammond,  Paul,  232. 
Hammond,  Mrs.  Paul,  36,  215. 
Hampton,  Colonel  Wade,  213 
Harper  &  Mitchell,  no. 
Harper's  Ferry,  165,  306. 
Harrison,  Burton,  174,  368. 
Harrison,  President,  83. 
Havilland,  Major  de,  129. 
Henry,  Professor,  76,  in. 
Henry,  Senator,  203. 
Herbert,  Mrs.  Hilary  A.,  9. 
Herstein,  Robert,  302. 
Hill,  Benjamin  H.,  247. 
Hill,  Miss  Henrietta,  247. 
Hilliard,  Miss,  46,  127,  138. 
Hitchcock,  Major,  333. 
Holcombe,    Professor   James    P., 

209,  229. 
Holt,  Joseph,  54,  148,  271-5,  287- 

314,  320-28,  364. 
Holt,  Mrs.  Joseph,  127. 
Homestead  Bill,  21. 
Hood,  General  J.  B.,  239. 
Hotel,  Brown's,  42,  51. 
Hotel,  National,  23. 
Hotel,  Spottswood,  167. 
Hotel,  St.  Charles,  82. 
Hotel,  Willard's,  112,  306-7,  315. 
Howard,  Mrs.,  95. 
Howell,    Miss   Maggie,    256,    260, 

265. 
Hudson,  Lieutenant,  266. 
Hughes,  Judge,  309-10,  362. 
Hulseman,  Baron,  44,  89. 
Hunt,  John,  160. 
Hunter,  R.  M.T.,  75. 
Huntsville,   Alabama,    17-8,  157, 

164,  172. 
Hurlburt ,  General  Stephen  A. ,  2  2  2 . 

Ihrie,  General,  307-315. 
Institute,  Hydropathic,  22. 
Intelligencer,     The     Washington, 

325- 
Irving,  Washington,  13. 
Ives,  Mrs.  Cora  Semmes,  173,  174. 

Jackson,       Thomas       Jonathan 

("■Stonewall"),  188. 
Japanese  Embassy,  110-113. 
Johnson,  Andrew,  35,  288,  311-12, 

318-29,   340-4,   354,   361,   364r 

371-3. 
Johnson,  Colonel  George,  192. 


3H 


INDEX — Continued 


Johnson,  Reverdy,  75. 
Johnson,  Colonel  Robert,  318. 
Johnston,  Albert  Sidney,  172. 
Johnston,  Dr.,  93. 
Johnston,    Joseph    E.,    152,    188, 

236. 
Johnston,  Mrs.  Joseph  E.,  167. 
Johnston,  Mrs.  W.  D.,  255. 
Jones,    General   George    Wallace, 

77,  80-1,  129. 
Jones,  Mrs.  Thomas  Benton,  78 

Kean,  Charles,  10. 

Keck,  Lieutenant,  252,  254. 

Keitt,  Lawrence  M.,  95-6. 

Keitt,  Mrs.  Lawrence  M.,  96. 

Kennedy,  Mrs.,  313. 

Key,  Francis  Barton,  95-6,  130, 

i33- 
Kierulf,  Miss  Rose,  90. 
King,  Butler,  174. 

Lamar,  Colonel,  205. 

Lamar,  Mrs.  Lucius  Mirabeau,  255. 

Lamar,  L.  Q.  C,  43,  48,  75,  181, 

204, 377- 
Lamar,  Mrs.  L.  Q,  C,  48,  130. 
Lane,   Miss  Harriet,  89,  90,    104, 

114-130. 
Lanier,  Clifford  A.,  55,  197-9. 
Lanier,  Sidney,  197-9,  201. 
Lay,  Bishop  Henry  C,  379. 
Lee,  Robert  E.,  189,  227,  242,  368. 
Lee,  Mrs.  Robert  E.,  201. 
Leese,  Mrs.  William,  90. 
Le    Vert,  Mme.,    12-17,  35,   213, 

368. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  75,  119,  245. 
Lind,  Jenny,  101,  105. 
Ligon,  Governor,  55. 
Logan,  General  John  A.,  184. 
Longstreet,  General  James,  187-8, 

358. 
Lubbuck,     ex-Governor     Francis 

R.,  258. 
Lumley,  Mr.,  37. 
Lyons,  Lord,  141. 

"  Macaire,  Robert"  (play  of),  10. 
Magruder,  Colonel  John  B.,  152. 
Mallory,  Miss  Ruby,  176. 
Mallory,  Stephen  R.,  30,  147,  170, 

177,  195,  209,  235,  246, 249, 313, 

367, 370, 377. 
Mallory,  Mrs.  S.  R,,  158,  167. 


Marcy,  Miss  Nellie,  63. 

Marcy,  William  L.,  62. 

Marcy,  Mrs.  W.  L.,  63. 

Mario,  Signor,  101. 

Marlboro,  Duchess  of,  120. 

Marshall,  Chief  Justice,  74. 

Marshall,  Henry,  174. 

Mason,  Miss  Emily,  201. 

Massonis,  The,  39. 

Maury,  The  Misses,  78,  92. 

Maury,  Dr.  Thos.,  358. 

Maury,  Professor,  76. 

May,  Dr.,  51,  358, 

Maynard  Rifle,  105. 

McClellan,  General  G.  F.,  63. 

McClelland,  Secretary,  64. 

McClung,  Alex.  Keith,  15-16. 

McDaniels,  The,  201. 

McEwan,  Captain,  298. 

McLean,  John,  77. 

McKim,  Charles,  273. 

McQueen,  General  and  Mrs.,  51, 

56. 
Memphis,  Tennessee,  72,  157,  222. 
Mercer,  General,  274. 
Merrick,  Mrs.  Judge,  54. 
Miles,  General  Nelson  A.,  267-8, 

275>  292-3.  296,334,  345. 
Miles,  Porcher,  36. 
Miller,  Major,  307. 
Mississippi,  Territory  of,  4,  160. 
Mitchell,  General  O.  M.,  181,  183. 
Mitchell,  Miss,  183-4. 
Mobile  Meadows,  10. 
Montague,  Mr.,  11. 
Monterey,  15. 

Moore,  Sydenham,  188,  190. 
Morgan,  General  J.  H.,  169. 
Morgan,  Senator  J.  T.,  153,  378. 
Morris  Island,  143. 
Morrow,  Dr.,  no,  112. 
Muhlenberg,  Lieutenant,  334. 
Myers,  Lieutenant  Henry,  126. 
Myers,  Mr.  Frederick,  274. 

Napier,   Lord,  30,  89,   114,  117, 

i33- 
Napier,  Lady  Nina,  114. 
Nashville   Female   Academy,   15. 
Nashville,  Tennessee,  15,  172,  236. 
New  York  Herald,  355-6. 
New  York  News,  237. 
Nicolay  &  Hay,  73,  86. 
Norwalk,  Connecticut,  27. 


INDEX — Continued 


38S 


O'Conor,  Charles,  290-1. 
Orr,  James  L.,  30,  51,  314- 
Orr,  Mrs.  James  L.,  52-3. 
Ouseley,  Sir  William  Gore,  134. 

Palmer  (Heller),  38-40. 

Parepa  Rosa,   101. 

Parker,  Mrs.  A.  S.,  119,  281,  321, 

340,  367. 
Parker,  Reverend  Henry  E.,  148. 
Parrish,  Mr.,  123. 
Partington,  Mrs.,  128-137. 
Patterson,  Mrs.,  339. 
Patti,  Adelina,  37. 
Pember,  Mrs.  Phoebe,  201,  277. 
Pendleton,  George  H.,  146,  304-5. 
Pendleton,   Mrs.    George   H.,    89, 

130,  303. 
Pennsylvania  Avenue,  28,  42,  102, 

306. 
Perry,  Commodore  M.  C,  no. 
Pettigrew,     General    James     G., 

188. 
Phillips,  Philip,  229,  248,  254. 
Phillips,  Mrs.  Philip,  151,  201. 
Phillips,  The  Misses,  104. 
Pierce  Administration,  27. 
Pierce,   Franklin,    28,    59-63,   68, 

87,  106. 
Pierce,  Mrs.  Franklin,  28. 
Pierce,  T.  W.,  271. 
Pillow,    General    Gideon   J.,    69, 

172. 
"Pocahontas"  (Play),  103. 
Polk,  Mrs.,  71,  368. 
Poore,  Ben-Perley,  128. 
Pope,  Colonel,  160. 
Podestad,  Mme.  de,  368. 
Potomac,  The,  28. 
Prescott,  Harriet,  64. 
Price,  Lilly,  120. 

Pryor,  Mrs.  Roger  A.,  44,  47,  179. 
Pritchard,  Colonel,  258,  261. 
Pugh,  George  E.,  146. 
Pugh,  Mrs.  George  E.,  44-47,  89, 

97.  J33.  !46,  3°3-4- 

Raasloff,    Minister    from    Den- 
mark, 150. 
Ramsey,  Admiral,  95. 
Ramsey,  Marian,  95. 
Randolph,  Mrs.,  173. 
Rattlesnake,  The,  227,  241. 


Reagan,  John  H.,  258. 

Reames,  Vinnie,  369. 

Redd,  Mrs.,  225,  233. 

Reedy,  Miss,  169. 

Rhett,  Colonel  Robert  Barnwell, 

355-6- 
Rich,  Mrs.,  90-94. 
Richmond,  Va.,  168,  206,  236,  239. 
Richmond  Enquirer,  26,  237. 
Riggs,  Mrs.  George,  37. 
Riggs  &  Corcoran,  308. 
Robinson,  Reverend  Stuart,  287 
Roddy,  General,  183. 
Rogers,  Representative,  325. 
Rountree,  Mile.,  94. 
Ruffin,  Edmund,  145-6. 

Sanders,  Miss  Narcissa,  69. 
Sandidge,    "Little  Jimmy,"    131. 
Sartiges,  Countess  de,  30. 
Scarlett,  Lieutenant,  136. 
Schaumberg,  Miss  Emily,  116. 
Scott,  Alfred,  315. 
Scott,  Captain,  33. 
Semmes,  Mrs.  Myra  Knox,  174. 
Semmes,  Raphael,  144,  370. 
Semmes,  Thomas  H.,  246,  249. 
Seward,  Frederick,  81. 
Seward,   Senator  W.  H.,  58,  81, 

131,  136,  238. 
Sewing  Machines,  The  New,  103. 
Seven  Pines,  Battle  of,  187. 
Shea,  George,  292. 
Sherman,    General    W.    T.,    230, 

232-3.   239. 
Shipman,  Lieutenant  Lemuel,  298. 
Shorter,  Eli  S.,  164. 
Sickles,  Daniel  E.,  52,  97,  118. 
Sickles,  Mrs.  Daniel  E.,  52. 
Slidell,  Mrs.  John,  29. 
Smith,  General  Gustavus  W.,  188. 
Smith,    General    Kirby    E.,    154, 

246. 
Smith,  Judge  William,  160. 
Smithsonian  Institution,  124. 
Soul6,  Congressman,  174. 
Sparrow,  General,  229. 
Spence,  Alice,  184. 
Spicer,  Emily,  65,  66,  90. 
Spicer,  Commander  W.  F.,  65,  66. 
Spofford,  Mr.,  64. 
Staeckl,  Baron  de,  38-9. 
Stafford,  General,  205. 
Stafford,  Samuel  M.,  9. 


386 


INDEX— Concluded 


Stannard,  Mrs.,  174. 

Stanton,  Edwin  M.,  289,  312-14, 

344.  36l>  364- 
Star  of  the  West,  143. 
Stars,  Falling  of  the,  7. 
Stephens,  Alex.  H.,  242,  258,  370. 
Stevens,  Miss,  50,  95. 
Stevens,  Thaddeus,  356. 
Stone  Mountain,   17. 
Stover,  Mrs.,  338. 
Stuart,  General  J.  E.  B.,  170. 
St.  Thomas,  Island  of,  150. 

Taney,  Roger  B.,  73-4. 
Tayloe,  Ogle,  307, 
Tayloe,  Mrs.  Ogle,  30,  119,  307. 
Tennessee,  Palisades  of,  19. 
Tetlow,  Captain  J.  B.,  298. 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  104. 
Thomas,  A.  J.,  104. 
Thomas,  General  B.  M.,  278. 
Thompson,  Mrs.  Jacob,  29,  86. 
Thomson,  Mrs.  J.  R.,  118. 
Thomson,  William,  91. 
Toombs,  Senator  Robert,  30,  243. 
Toombs,  Mrs.  Robert,  86. 
Townsend,  General  E.  D.,  374. 
Tracy,  General  E.  D.,  155,  165-6, 

190, 193. 
Tree,  Ellen,  10. 
Tucker,  Lee,  174. 
Tunstall,  Brian,  10. 
Tunstall,  Sir  Cuthbert,  10. 
Tunstall,  George,  232. 
Tunstall,  Peyton  Randolph,  3. 
Tunstall,  Thomas  B.,  9,  13,  14,  26. 
Tunstall,  Tom  Tait,  90. 
Tuscaloosa,  Ala.,  4,  6,  9,  15,  17, 

109. 
Tyler,  ex- President  John,  144. 

Vallandigham,  Clement  L.,  146. 
Vallette,  Captain  Octave,  207-8. 
Vogell,  Dr.  Henry  C,  335. 
Voorhees,  Daniel,  369. 


Walker,  Aunt  Dolly,  205. 
Walker,  Leroy  Pope,  182. 
Walker,  R.  J.,  75,  357. 
Walton,  Octavia,  35,  368. 
War,  Black  Hawk,  80. 
War,  Revolutionary,  3. 
Ward,  Miss  Josephine,  118. 
Warrior,  The  Black,  109. 
Watterson,  Henry,  47. 
Wayne,  James  M.,  77. 
Weed,  Thurlow,  58. 
Wesselhreft,  Dr.,  22. 
Wheeler's  Brigade,  232. 
Wheeler,  General  Joseph,  234,  259. 
White   House,   The,    26,   85,    106, 

130, 339, 354. 
Whittle,    Major    and    Mrs.,    229, 

242,  254,  278,  279. 
Wickliffe,  Sisters,  54,  202. 
Wigfall,  Louis  T.,  246-7. 
Williams,  General  A.  S.,  35. 
Williams,  Buxton,  185-6. 
Williams,  Harriet,  31. 
Wilson,  Henry  A.,  358-9,  360-1. 
Wilson,    General  James   H.,    250, 

254,    276. 
Winder,  General  John  H.,  187. 
Winter,  Mrs.  Annie,  207,  258. 
Wirt,  General  and  Mrs.  Wm.,  69. 
Withers,  Miss  Hattie,  127. 
Withers,  General  Jones  M.,   164, 

192. 
Withers,  Mrs.  Jones  M.,  223. 
Withers,  Robert,  244. 
Withers,  Dr.  Thomas,  153,  348. 
Wood,  Benjamin,  289. 
Woods,  Colonel,  278. 
Winans,    Ross,  369. 
Wyeth,  John  A.,  279. 

Yancey,  William  L.,  16,  180-1. 
Yulee,  David  L.,  147,  274. 
Yulee,  Mrs.  David  L.,  54,  202-3. 

Zollicoffer,   General  Felix  K., 
172,  197. 


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